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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24743881">Darling, You're a Shot in the Dark</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetreadsstuff/pseuds/jetreadsstuff'>jetreadsstuff</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Person of Interest (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Faking Death, Mystery, Post canon, Slow Burn, Team Reunion, meaning no police protagonists, partial canon retcon, partial finale retcon, private investigator fusco, reese lived, trans girl reese</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:22:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>39,735</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24743881</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetreadsstuff/pseuds/jetreadsstuff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>it has been a little over a year since team machine took down Samaritan for good. The original team machine is still working on their mission statement, protecting innocent people from bad situations, though scattered like roaches across the wide map of new york they are. Shaw elects to work alone. But when Root's number comes up for Shaw, she begins investigating with a most out of character hopeful attitude. Weirder still, she recieves a phone call from Root telling her simply to stop looking. Now, tasked with chasing down a ghost, Shaw admits something she doesnt very often, that she needs help from the original team machine. what's left of it, anyway</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Root | Samantha Groves/Sameen Shaw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Ghost in the Machine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I would drive on to the end with you<br/>A liquor store or two keeps the gas tank full<br/>And I feel like there's nothing left to do<br/>But prove myself to you and we'll keep it running<br/>-From My Chemical Romance's "Demolition Lovers"</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Shaw does not hesitate as she fires her gun. The man gasps, groans, and slumps against the wall. Another victim protected and another perpetrator shot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” Joey asks the woman currently tied up in the corner of the apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you know, just another dull day,” the woman attempts, lightly, to sound as cool and untouchable as her rescuers. She fails. Joey pretends not to notice as he unties her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nobody’s going to bother you again. Not about this. And if they do, we’ll be there,” Joey continues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know how to thank you,” the woman beams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then don’t,” Shaw says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What my partner means is no thanks necessary,” Joey briefly turns back towards Shaw to give her a quizzical look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Shaw nods hesitantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joey finishes untying the victim and catches up with Shaw as she walks, rather speedily, away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were great back there,” Joey says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You too, thanks,” Shaw gives him something of a smirk. Color her elated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, if you wanted to, there’s always a spot open for you on the team,” Joey prods at her with his elbow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Joey,” Shaw freezes in her tracks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean it. If I talked to Harper and Logan-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Joey. No,” Shaw warns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But we did make a pretty good team the last couple of days,” Joey points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We did,” Shaw agrees, “this was...a special case. She thought that we should be all hands on deck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just think that-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She respects that I work alone. I mean, she does normally,” Shaw speaks slowly, carefully, “you should too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Joey nods, backing away, “door’s always open.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Shaw says. When he’s out of sight, her earpiece starts speaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, what was wrong with that picture?” She speaks with the voice of an old friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I keep trying to work these numbers and mind my own business but a certain matchmaking ai keeps meddling,” Shaw answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wasn’t that fun, though?” She asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not the point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew it! It was!” She says, rather gleefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re omniscient. You know everything,” Shaw points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be that as it may,” her tone is teasing. It makes Shaw want to tear her hair out, “I think the four of you would get along just fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah,” Shaw rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, why not?” She asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know the answer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“People need people, Shaw,” The Machine says, “you are no exception, no matter how hard you try to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know I’m not budging.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me why.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is infuriating. You know what I am going to say before I do. So what’s with all these mind games?” Shaw folds her arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You may…” She hesitates, “have a point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There was only one Team. For me, at least,” Shaw says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shaw,” She sighs. And why is she sighing? AIs don’t breathe. Her theatrics are as charming as they are annoying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gotta go,” Shaw says, hanging up her earpiece. She still has not had breakfast yet, and she especially isn’t in the mood for this before steak and eggs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She walks some and eventually reaches her favorite spot; a little diner called The Red Brimmed Hat. Shaw walks in like a short drink of water, stomach growling like nobody’s business. She sits at the counter and waits for service.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What can I get you today?” The woman behind the counter asks boredly, smacking her gum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steak and eggs,” Shaw answers, “and a coffee. Black.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, sweetie,” the woman smiles. Shaw tries to ignore the way her spine tenses up at that word. Most pet names, really.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Shaw says plainly. Her ear buzzes with static. She’s back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Miss me?" She asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No," Shaw scoffs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Look, I'm sorry about this morning. I am," She assures her, "I'm just...worried about you is all."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why would you be worried?" Shaw asks, "I mean...it's you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I was given the capacity to predict people. I can work off of probability, seeing a thousand different scenarios at a time. Turn left, meet the love of your life. Turn right, step off of a street corner and get hit by a cab."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's not really going to happen, is it?" Shaw raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, it was a hypothetical. The point is that though I can predict, I can only work as far as humans are predictable. And a lot of the time they are. Sometimes, though..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Here you go, sweetie," the server interrupts, handing Shaw her mug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks a lot," Shaw says, picking up her fork.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The server gives her a strange look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Earpiece. I'm on the phone with my mother," Shaw lies. The server nods, "anyway, your point?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Such a short fuse when you're hungry," she sighs, "such a short fuse regardless. But especially when you're hungry."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hm," Shaw takes a sip of her coffee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My point is that you have made a habit of escaping me. And that is very, very annoying."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"More annoying than this?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"In almost a thousand scenarios, you choose to work alone on this next number, and things end very badly," her tone is more stern now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I suppose there's one where I work alone and everything turns out fine? Maybe a dozen where I work with others and things turn out bad? Yeah, I'll take my chances."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm just saying, I hope you do what you do best," She says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Killing people?" Shaw asks sarcastically. The server gives her another, more prolonged strange look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Surprising me," She answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, about this next number," Shaw pauses to sip her coffee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You want to know what it is."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's kind of why I wear this stupid thing," Shaw points out, "you've left me alone to do my thing every time. Why the sudden concern for me being by myself?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Because, Shaw, I'm not going to be able to help this time around," She explains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Getting sick of me?" Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Never," she says. The corners of Shaw's mouth twitch upwards ever so slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, why not then?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Conflict of interest," She answers, "you'll understand better when you actually get ahold of the number."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hm. And that number would be?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sameen, it's not like usual when you can walk down the street talking to me and have it pass as a normal conversation. This is a special case. You're going to freak out. You're going to have questions."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't freak out," Shaw points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I would rather it be in the privacy of your own home. I don't think I have to explain myself further. Enjoy your breakfast."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaw opens her mouth to give this robot a piece of her mind, but before she can, she hears static again. Fine, be that way, she thinks as the server hands her a plate. The silence Shaw had been hoping for all morning is now oddly unsettling. Shaw is left alone with her thoughts and for once, that seems to be exactly where she doesn’t want to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steak and eggs. Delicious as it is ludicrously unhealthy, she eats away as her sense of curiosity threatens to do the same to her. Conflict of interest. What could she have possibly meant by that? The machine said it would make more sense later. What is the use of an all-knowing AI at one's disposal if the damned thing speaks in riddles?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>_______________________</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, she arrives back to her small apartment. She turns on her earpiece before the door is even closed. Bear runs up to her and she barely greets him out of urgency, leaving the dog to cock his head to the side in quiz.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright. Now do what you do best. Talk," Shaw commands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I want you to know I really don't suggest taking this matter lightly," she says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're talking like Finch again," Shaw says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Like father like daughter."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Talk," Shaw repeats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, I suppose I've left you in suspense for long enough," she reasons, "I held off for as long as I could."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Who is it?" Shaw os becoming more and more impatient.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Caroline Turing," she says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Great. Why would that freak me out?" Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There isn't time," she says, "I've already broken the rule."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What are you talking about?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good luck. And work quickly" she says. And then static.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Great," Shaw sighs. She pulls her computer out of the desk drawer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thing she does is research the name. Turing, obviously, yields results. Caroline Turing yields only one. It isn’t a social media profile or a dating site biography. It’s a news article. Shaw clicks it.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>The Manhattan Gossip</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Dated May 18th, 2012</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Written by Liz Johnstone, edited by Al Kelly</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Late last night, the NYPD Human Resources organization was called to take down an elusive hacker suggested to be responsible for embezzling government funds and has been rumored to have had a hand in the murder of congressman Michael Delancy in February, as well as the framing of Scott Powell in the said assassination. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>This hacker has evaded police capture for years, taking on numerous identities and never remaining in the same place for long. She has been taking up residency in New York City, though who knows where she is now. </b>
</p><p><b>This time around, she assumed the identity of Caroline Turing, an identity seemingly completely fabricated. </b><b>The practice itself was put under scrutiny for hiring Turing</b><b>, but they were determined inconclusive as </b><b>nearly </b><b>a </b><b>hundred</b> <b>online</b> <b>articles</b><b> detailed Turing's supposed </b><b>credentials</b><b>, as well as several social media </b><b>profiles</b><b>. </b></p><p>
  <b>The reasons why the hacker was posing as a  psychologist are unknown. HR was given an anonymous tip to her whereabouts at a local hotel. She was allegedly seen with the elusive urban legend,</b>
  <b> the man in the suit</b>
  <b>. It is unclear whether these allegations are true, or if they are, if the man in the suit was an ally to the hacker in her escape. Local authorities did not have much to say on the subject, although</b>
</p><p>
  <span>That is as far as Shaw gets before the screen blinks, and the entire article vanishes. Her screen displays the words "Sorry, Sweetie" in large letters before her laptop's screen goes blue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What the hell?" Shaw furrows her brow and restarts her computer. The screen glitches some. She opens the window and clicks on the last thing in her history. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A 404 message. This article has been rendered defunct and deleted. Frustrated, Shaw searches for Caroline Turing again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Did you mean Alan Turing? It asks. Search instead for Caroline Turing. No results. Damn! She slams her laptop shut. This is going to be a tough one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I take it everything has been deleted?” The machine asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I could have used a head’s up,” Shaw says through gritted teeth, “what’s next, my computer catching fire?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m very sorry for what happened. I overestimated my ability to withhold information.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Withholding information is all you’ve done,” Shaw protests.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shaw, please don’t get angry with me. I’m trying to help you. I’m just working under constraints.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What kind of restraints?” Shaw asks. The machine does not respond at first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who did that article mention other than Miss Turing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not making any sense,” Shaw huffs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Start there. Talk soon,” she says. Nothing. Again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaw sits and stews in frustration. Who had the article mentioned? HR. Which is now also defunct. The man in the suit was mentioned too. Shaw sighs. She’ going to have to do something drastic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shaw?” Reese picks up the phone almost immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Shaw greets sheepishly, “listen, I know you’re off doing whatever it is that you do nowadays, but I needed to ask you a question, and I need you to answer fast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Reese says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re the man in the suit, right?” Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...well-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great. Do you remember anything about Caroline Turing?” Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Caroline Turing?” Reese repeats in disbelief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reese. Working a number. I don’t have time for this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Caroline Turing was an alias Root used,” Reese explains, “Shaw, what are you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaw hangs up before Reese can finish speaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Bear. You wanna go for a walk?” she asks. Bear wags his tail. Bear is an attack dog, not a bloodhound, but it has been a while since she’s gone on a mission with him. He is definitely getting cramped in the apartment by himself. Besides, this feels important.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or maybe, for whatever reason, Shaw doesn’t want to be alone in this. Why would the machine send Shaw after Root’s defunct alias? She doesn’t know what the hell is going on. But she intends to figure it out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, I need a place to start. What do you have?” Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I gave you a place to start,” the machine points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you can see exactly how well that worked out,” Shaw is beginning to get angry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was precisely an example of what happens when I help you. As an AI, I cannot lie. And like it or not, you’re not the only person I have ties to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, how do you expect me to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you’ll be able to investigate better after you’ve had your lunch,” the machine interrupts, “Look at places to eat on Lexington.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good luck, Shaw,” the machine says. That is becoming something of a catchphrase.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, go to Lexington,” Shaw sighs, standing up. Bear fetches his leash. Good boy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a short walk. But Shaw is still drawing a blank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re smart enough to get this on your own, Shaw, I know you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe. But I’m too pissed off to think. No thanks to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I deserve that,” she sighs, “okay. But this is as specific as I’ll get. It’s a perfect day for a sandwich.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The only sandwich place I’ve passed is…” Shaw pauses, “there’s something about subways, isn’t there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m terminating contact with you until further notice. I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, Shaw. But my hand has been forced. I wish you good luck. And for what it’s worth, I know you can do this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, I-” but this time, the earpiece starts playing a high frequency shrieking. Shaw reflexively yanks it out of her ear. Shaw wonders…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>______________________________________</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The old home base. There’s a special kind of irony in the repurposed subway station being now even more defunct than it was when they got to it. There was clearly a fire at some point, soot everywhere and scorch marks on the wall. It would have burned out fast, oxygen moving slower down here than it would above. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bear whines, sniffing around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I miss them too,” Shaw’s voice is quiet. She walks through the station. Waiting. She isn’t sure exactly what she is waiting for. Something. Bear breaks free of her grip and runs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bear?” Shaw takes after him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Shaw gets to him, he’s in one of the cars. It looks untouched from the flames. A bed has been placed in the corner of the room, though dusty it is.It had been visited recently, Shaw just doesn’t know exactly how much so. She isn’t much of a detective. A thought creeps into her mind that she very quickly brushes aside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She scans the room. A desk, a laptop, a printer, some books. Finally, her eyes lands on a bottle of black nail polish on the desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Root,” Shaw whispers. She has been here more recently than anyone else. But how can that be? Root is dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unless. Shaw walks over to the payphone and took it off the hook.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, I know you can hear me. Root’s grave was empty. You told me that they had dug her up to get to the cochlear implant. That was a lie, wasn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No response. Only a dial tone. But she hears something behind her, back in Root’s room. The printer. She approaches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the paper, there is a message written in morse code. Shaw’s eyes widen as she reads it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>.. / -.-. .- -. -. --- - / .-.. .. .</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The phone begins ringing. Shaw answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clever, isn’t she? Giving you one of my aliases so she was technically telling the truth. You can program a machine to follow orders, but you can’t prevent something smarter than you from finding loopholes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Root?” Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There isn’t time for this, Sweetie. I wish I could stay on to chat for longer. I need you to do something for me. I need you to stop looking for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re in danger,” Shaw’s voice rasps as she speaks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you will be, too. If you don’t stop,” Root whispers, “I’m doing something she won’t; prioritizing one life over another.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to stop looking for you,” Shaw says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you might say something like that. That’s why I made her promise to cut contact with you entirely,” she pauses, “your life is simply not a risk that I’m willing to take.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” Shaw feels her breath growing shallower, “I need to find you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to be found. You know that, sweetie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then a dial tone is heard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Root?” Shaw asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Root?” she growls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still more beeping. She hangs up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Root doesn’t want her help. Fuck that, though. Shaw is going to find her. But it is becoming very clear, despite her resistance, she isn’t going to be able to find her on her own. Left turn.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ryle's philosophical arguments in his essay "Descartes' Myth" lay out his notion of the mistaken foundations of mind-body dualism conceptions, suggesting that to speak of mind and body as substances, as a dualist does, is to commit a category mistake. Ryle writes:[1]</p><p>Such in outline is the official theory. I shall often speak of it, with deliberate abusiveness, as "the dogma of the Ghost in the Machine." I hope to prove that it is entirely false, and false not in detail but in principle. It is not merely an assemblage of particular mistakes. It is one big mistake and a mistake of a special kind. It is, namely, a category mistake.</p><p>Ryle then attempts to show that the "official doctrine" of mind/body dualism is false by asserting that it confuses two logical-types, or categories, as being compatible. He states "it represents the facts of mental life as if they belonged to one logical type/category, when they actually belong to another. The dogma is therefore a philosopher's myth."</p><p>Arthur Koestler brought Ryle's concept to wider attention in his 1967 book The Ghost in the Machine.[7] The book's main focus is mankind's movement towards self-destruction, particularly in the nuclear arms arena. It is particularly critical of B. F. Skinner's behaviourist theory. One of the book's central concepts is that as the human brain has grown, it has built upon earlier, more primitive brain structures, and that this is the "ghost in the machine" of the title. Koestler's theory is that at times these structures can overpower higher logical functions, and are responsible for hate, anger and other such destructive impulses.<br/>-From the Wikipedia page for "Ghost in the Machine"</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Good To See You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You'll meet me at blue diner<br/>I'll take coffee and talk about nothing, baby<br/>At blue diner, I'll take anything you want to give me, baby</p><p>-From Mitski's Old Friend</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Shaw paces her apartment for so long she thinks she might wear a hole into Mrs Rosenberg's apartment downstairs, and from what Shaw has heard during the dozens of times she has been dragged into the nice lonely widow's apartment for tea, that lady has enough to worry about without actual holes busting through her ceiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bear watches her, quizzically, from the couch. Paws folded one over the other, eyes following her charade as she attempts to calm herself. And calming herself is proving to be a bit of a challenge. She's not used to having to do it, as she is not easy to unnerve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And sure, the passerby may think that she is completely calm, silently pacing with a mildly bored expression on her face. But her thoughts are jumbled in all of the confusion. She doesn't know what she's going to say that won't make her sound like an absolute lunatic. Normally she doesn't care, but she needs help. And helping lunatics, no matter if they are one's friends or not, is generally ill-advised. She sighs, starts a pot of coffee to ease her nerves, and calls Fusco's cell phone number.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She has seen Fusco more recently than Reese. About six months more recently, in fact. They'd gotten dinner together at one of Shaw's favorite places. It wasn't exactly like one would generally picture a joyous reunion between friends, but it worked for them. No awkward silences. No lulls in conversation. It was nice. Shaw has no idea why she doesn't reach out more often. Except, of course, she knows exactly why. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They tried. They had all tried their best to continue what Finch started and help people. But it was just too different. Carter had been in a coma for two years by the time they managed to take down Samaritan. She was, legally speaking, dead. Finch was with his wife and couldn't participate in team machine affairs for the most part. Root was dead except of course she really isn't. But it was like trying to operate a computer without the chip. She hears Fusco and Reese still work together. Sometimes, that is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, it's Lionel Fusco. I'm probably on the job or with my kid. You know what to do," beep. God damn it, Shaw thinks. She will have to speak vaguely, so Root can't hack Fusco's phone, but make it sound urgent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, Fusco," she greets, trying to keep as measured a voice as she possibly can, "listen, I know it's been a while. I'm trying to get us all together for lunch tomorrow. You know, you, me, Reese. Call me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, that was quick and painless enough. Now, to call Reese. She dials. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Pick up pick up pick up pick the fuck up," she commands into the phone, drumming her fingers on the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay, okay! I'm here," Reese says, reminding Shaw she has absolutely no idea how to approach the situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you up for lunch tomorrow at the diner?" she asks, using her free arm to grip the dining room chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You..." Reese sighs, "you want to get lunch with me?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You and Fusco. Are you in?" She is growing antsy. She has absolutely no idea if Root is already in her private network or not. Well, if anyone can do it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why do you want to go to lunch?" Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm getting the band back together," she jokes, "I mean, can't a girl see her friends once in a while?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, not when she called a few hours ago to ask about a made-up person and immediately hung up," it occurs to Shaw, quite suddenly, that this situation up to this point has been more confusing to Reese than to her. If that was even at all possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I need you to trust me that this is all going to make sense as soon as we get lunch but I can't explain it all on the phone," Shaw lowers her voice, "I need you to trust me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reese doesn't speak for a few more minutes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay. I'll go. But you had better have a damn good explanation for all of this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I will. Thanks," Shaw breathes a sigh of relief before remembering that she does still need to call Fusco.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, where are we eating?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Doesn't matter."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What do you mean it doesn't matter? Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't care. The Red Brimmed Hat?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You live in New York City and you eat at like three restaurants."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I like routine," Shaw shrugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That does not sound like the Shaw I know."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"In the places I eat," Shaw adds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What time?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Jesus Christ, Reese. Lunch. We meet at lunchtime."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That is not a concrete-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Two!" Shaw huffs, "Two. is two okay."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Two is fine."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Cool. See you tomorrow," she's about ready to hang up, but Reese adds something else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, and one more thing, Shaw,” Reese adds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Were you this unbearably verbose the last time we saw each other?” Shaw asks, raising her eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t speak nerd, Sameen,” Shaw hates how she can practically hear Reese smirking into the phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well?” she asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When you see me, I’m going to look...different.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Different?” Shaw stirs her coffee with the back end of the spoon. There’s a slight pause before Reese speaks again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hrt. One year,” Reese answers. Shaw drops her spoon on the heated base of the coffee machine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit. Has it really been that long?” Shaw barely restrains herself from retrieving the now boiling hot utensil.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Little longer. You’re not fazed?” Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, sorry. Congratulations,” Shaw adds with not nearly the proper amount of sincerity in her tone. It’s okay. Reese knows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks," she says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The call-waiting beeps before Shaw gets the chance to drag this conversation out even unbearably longer. It's Fusco.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fuck yes," Shaw mutters, "okay, I have to go. It's the other stooge trying to get a hold of me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Click.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You've got Fusco," he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know you don't have to say that every time you call someone, right?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did you call me just to berate me?" Fusco asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes. Look, you got my message, right?" Shaw folds her arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, I saw you left a message and just ignored it so I would have to talk to your mean ass live. Like how it's not the same when you tape the game instead of watching it live," They both remain silent at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not," Shaw explains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, Shaw, I listened to your message. Lunch tomorrow."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And?" Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why are you so jumpy today? You see your own shadow or something?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fuck off."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can do lunch," Fusco finally answers, "but why all the urgency?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can't tell you right now."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's the matter? Omnipotent AI got your tongue?" Fusco sighs, "I am so unbelievably sick of everyone being so vague."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry. Just, not on the phone. Hence the lunch," she explains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A beat of silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, The Red Brimmed Hat. Tomorrow. Two."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I might be a little late," Fusco says, "apologies in advance."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm up to my ears in red tape," he scoffs, "NYPD's way of slowing my investigation down so they can crack the case before me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Cops," Shaw shakes her head, "what case are you working on?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Homicide on eleventh and fifty. Suspected crime of passion, the boyfriend purchased a gun just before it happened. I have my suspicions. It looks too clean to be an inexperienced killer, and the boyfriend has no military background, no-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you think you could take a couple of days to work with us?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll," Fusco pauses, "see what I can move around. Why, what's up?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's then when she hears an ever so faint click, the sound of the phone being picked up by another line. They're out of time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Gotta go. See you tomorrow," she hangs up the phone and tosses it across the apartment onto her futon for good measure.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Reese arrives first. And she does look different. Good different. She looks happier than the last time Shaw saw her. She wears a fitted suit, the same as always. She hangs her jacket off the back of the chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey," she says plainly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey," Shaw echoes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, you mind telling me what it is exactly that was so urgent?" she places her elbows on the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a name now or is it just Reese?” Shaw asks, unfolding the menu over her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you seriously asking if I have a name?” Reese raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First names in this group,” Shaw points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're really not going to tell me?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not until Fusco gets here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What can I get y'all?" a server asks with a bored expression on her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We're expecting a third," Shaw explains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Something to drink while you wait?" She clicks and unclicks her pen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ice tea. Thanks," Reese smiles at her. Shaw raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Black coffee," Shaw says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right away, ladies!" The server forces a smile and walks away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Since when do you drink ice tea?" Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I already had coffee today."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So did I."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Let me see if I have this straight. You participated in two extremely cryptic phone calls with me yesterday, you've dragged me to this diner that I'm fairly sure is a front for a money-laundering scheme-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It is. Continue."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"...And you haven't been answering my questions as to why, but me ordering ice tea, that is what's weird?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Pretty much."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shaw," Reese sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not explaining the same thing to two different people separately, especially on the phone where I could be tapped, or worse."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You sound like Finch," Reese smirks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, when Fusco gets here and he orders his tuna melt on white with fries and his half a mug of coffee with creamer and sweetener on the side because he doesn't like the way the restaurants do it-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why do you have Fusco's regular order memorized? I get lunch with him twice a month and I've never even-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"After we order I can give you the extremely small information that I have because She is giving me exactly zip to work with, and you guys can ask your questions that I don't have the answers to. I get the sense we're not working with a lot of time."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shaw, are you in trouble?" Reese locks eyes with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What? No," Shaw looks at the table, "it's just complicated. I just need you to trust me. This is a big one, and it's going to sound absolutely batshit insane."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"In our line of work?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The more I try to explain it the harder it's going to be so just..." Shaw trails off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah. I trust you, Shaw," Reese says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's silent until after they get their beverages.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lorelai,” Reese mumbles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lorelai?” Shaw repeats with a somewhat puzzled tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My name. You asked. I didn't answer before. So," she lifts her cup, "it's Lorelai."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why Lorelai?" Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reese doesn't answer. And then Fusco walks through the front door, ending their discussion there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, Shaw, good to see you," he greets, taking off his coat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're late," Shaw says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I said I was going to be," Fusco points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You said that you might be," Shaw retorts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Lionel. How's the case going?" Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The usual. All tied up at the office, cops up my ass-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm going to stop you there, Fusco. What you do in your free time is none of my business," Reese holds up a hand in dramatic effect. Fusco suppresses a laugh. Poorly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good to see you too, Rory," Fusco kisses her forehead. Then he sits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I take it your work as a PI isn't treating you well lately?" Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Try if one more goddamn cop tells me to go investigate a candy store or whatever so help me God I will take those shitty gas station donuts and shove-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, I'll just come back in a few minutes," the server unclicks her pen and backs away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No, sorry I," Fusco sighs, "I'm sorry you had to hear all of that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Rough day?" The server asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh yeah," Fusco says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know, cops come in here all the time. Rude customers. Lousy tips. Less than ten percent most of the time. You know officer Louis Johnson?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That asshole? He tried to get my car towed," Fusco shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He made my best work friend cry and he complains literally every time I'm in here," she tapped her pen on the pad, "if you ever want to tp his house, give me a call. Anyway, what can I get you guys?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Tuna melt with fries. And uh, coffee black. but leave a decent amount off the top so I can add the cream and sugar myself," Fusco answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"White or wheat?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"White," Fusco hands her his menu and Shaw gives Reese a smug look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"BLT on white, please," Reese smiles at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"An original," Shaw hands the server her menu.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Be back in a minute with your coffee, handsome," she walks away, seemingly not having written down a single thing they said. Is the notepad just for show?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay, now let's get down to business. You're going to tell us what's going on. I don't care how nuts it sounds, I don't care. I do not care. I need to know now," Fusco half-demands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, given that waitress was just flirting with you, I'd guess that Shaw has gathered us here to announce that the sky is falling," Reese chimed in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She was not flirting. She was just being polite so I'll give her a bigger tip. And I will, by the way. Anyone trashing officer Johnson deserves 35%," Fusco adds sugar to his coffee, "besides. If she was flirting, you guys would know, because there would be a Fusco shaped hole in the wall over there."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright, Bugs Bunny. Focus," Shaw says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right yes. The thing we were doing," Fusco perks up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, yesterday, I got a phone call from her telling me about my new number," Shaw says, "and she tells me who it belongs to. So, of course, I got immediately to work. I searched her name, but there was only one link. A news article from 2012 detailing, well, Reese's time with my number. That's when I called."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So your number is...Caroline Turing? That doesn't make any sense," Reese tents her fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It gets worse. As I was reading, the article just completely deleted itself. Crashed my computer while it was at it. And I kept trying to get info from her, but she was being completely cryptic and vague. She said she wasn't helping me with this one."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Which is where we come in?" Fusco asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not yet. She vaguely alluded to the subway and I went there with Bear hoping to find out what the hell was going on. The whole thing has suffered from severe fire damage," she continues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No surprise there. Faulty wiring nearly killed her twice," Reese chimes in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But Bear started going completely nuts and ran off and when I caught up to him, he was in Root's room."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Root's room?" Fusco raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And her room didn't look like it was affected by the fire even a little bit. And it was dusty, but not, you know, a year dusty."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Weird," Fusco stirs his coffee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And then the phone started ringing, this phone that shouldn't even be functional. And it was her. But not Her her. It was Root," Shaw scoffs, "I know it sounds insane. But remember how her grave was empty?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shirley told us that the FEDs dug her up to get to her cochlear implant," Fusco answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, and we were all fucking idiots for believing it. Her grave was empty because she isn't dead," Shaw folds her arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But I saw her. She was dead at the hospital," Fusco points out, "and the machine does talk in Root's voice. Are you sure that-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, Fusco, I am sure," Shaw struggles, for the millionth time that day to regain her usually well-secured cool demeanor, "I have no idea how she did it. With the body and the convincing her to lie to everyone even though and I am quoting her here, she physically cannot lie."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"When she died, the machine always referred to her as Samantha Groves," Reese leans forward, "not even once did she use the phrase Root is dead."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can barely cope with a sentient godlike machine watching over people and behaving like a human. Gives me the creeps," Fusco shudders, "and now you're telling me that she sits there thinking of loopholes in her own coding. Nope. Doesn't sit right with me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That isn't the point here. The point is that-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She's alive," Reese says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, and she made the machine promise not to tell us, and she faked a body, she's god knows where doing god knows what and the fact that She left Root's death alone for a year tells me that she is in danger, and we have to work fast."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What exactly did she say to you?" Reese asks, "Root, I mean."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She," Shaw hesitates, "she told me not to look for her."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Perfect," Fusco mumbles, "so you need help finding a girl who's smarter than all three of us, who has us cut off from our number one resource, and doesn't want to be found."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How do you find someone who wants to stay hidden?" Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Even geniuses leave a trail. Isn't that how cocoa puffs found out about Her to begin with?" Fusco asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fusco's right. There has to be a back door. Nobody's that careful. But I figured I'd better bring you guys in anyway because she is pretty damn intricate," Shaw agrees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You mean your hand was forced by Her?" Reese corrects. Shaw glares at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, well, that too," Shaw leans back in her chair, "so. Can you guys help me?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, I'm in," Reese says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure. Old time's sake and all that," Fusco agrees, "but I'm starving. So it's not gonna be until after this tuna melt."</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>"Back before I decided that I needed help, the machine led me here. I figured because there's gotta be something concrete here that Root can't get to and hack or destroy from a distance. Whatever distance she's working from, that is," Shaw leads them down the stairs into the old subway station.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wow," Reese says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You were not kidding when you said this place had been set on fire. It looks like the inside of a fireplace down here," she raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Looks like the surveillance is fully operational," Fusco points at a camera in the upper right corner of the station. The red light blinks at them, "Hi, Shirl."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fax machine begins printing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's odd," Fusco says, "you were right. This room does look entirely untouched by the fire. Although maybe not. It looks kind of like the fire got to it as much as everything else in here, but someone came back in and fixed it up."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He picks up the piece of paper. .... .. / ..-. ..- ... -.-. --- or, Hi, Fusco. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay this is ridiculous," Shaw looks at the camera, "I have no idea how you suppose this is any different from just talking to us."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>.-. --- --- - / .. ... / -. --- - / - .... . / --- -. .-.. -.-- / .--. . .-. ... --- -. / .. / .- -- / .... .. -.. .. -. --. / ..-. .-. --- --</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She says cocoa puffs ain't her concern here," Fusco reads aloud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This is the most annoying mission I have ever done, and that is saying something," Shaw huffs, running a finger through the dust on the desk. It makes her hand sticky, "give us another hint. We're definitely all gonna mess up our lungs down here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>... .... .- .-- / -.. --- . ... / -. --- - / .-.. .. ... - . -.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I would listen if you fucking gave me any useful information to go off of," Shaw snarls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-. --- - / .... . .-. . / - --- / .... . .-.. .--. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then why do you keep talking to us?" Shaw asks, walking away from the desk, "If you're not going to help us, what's the point?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-- --- .-. .- .-.. / ... ..- .--. .--. --- .-. -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Moral support?" Reese asks, squinting at the paper. Then she laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" Shaw asks, approaching her. The bottom of the page displays two characters that do not have a place in morse code. In rather large font, it displays ";)"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry to bother you, I know that you're busy over there having a pissing contest with a goddamn robot, but I've found something interesting," Fusco chimes in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This dust isn't settling so naturally. It's not a build-up from being left alone for long periods of time. It's not even dust at all," Fusco says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What is it?" Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's completely fabricated practical effects used for a movie. a light dusting of grey colored powdered sugar, blown around the room likely by this fan here," Fusco says, "wouldn't recommend putting this in your coffee now, though."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fake dust?" Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It looks like someone wanted it to look like their suite was vacant longer than it really had been," Fusco rubs the weird sugar off on his ugly tie. Reese eyes him do this, as she was the one who purchased said tie, which now has a grey splotch on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Pointless theatrics," Shaw sighs, "sounds like Root."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Or maybe not so pointless," Fusco folds his arms, "maybe it's to convince us that the trail is cold."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She knows you're a detective, though," Reese points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But, well," Shaw furrows her brow, "she thought I would be working alone."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That does sound like you. But that still doesn't explain why she would think that you would fall for that," Fusco says, "I mean, you're no Shirley but you're pretty damn smart."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks," Shaw looks down, "maybe it's a sign."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What kind of sign?" Fusco quirks an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Like maybe she does want to be found, so she purposefully covered her tracks in the shittiest way possible so that we would figure out how to find her," Shaw continues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why bother covering your tracks at all if you're trying to leave hints for somebody?" Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Maybe it wasn't her choice. Maybe she was being forced to cover her tracks," Fusco rubs his chin, "it's a stretch."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It'll have to do as a theory for now," Shaw attempts to lift the nail polish bottle off of the desk but it seems to be stuck, glued to place with the sugary substance. Charming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And as for why she asked Shaw to stop looking for her?" Reese is seemingly unconvinced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Working on it," Fusco answers, kneeling to look through a small fridge beneath her desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What the hell are you doing, Lionel?" Reese asks, "we ate right before we came here, remember? You astounded all of us with your ability to take a tuna sandwich and a ten-mile 80-degree taxi ride without spilling your guts, remember?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm trying to figure out how recently she has actually been here since the dust can serve as no point of reference," Fusco explains, rummaging through. He hands Reese a soda.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not thirsty, thanks," Reese smirks, knowing full well that is not what Fusco intends Reese to do with the drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Look at the expiration date, jackass," Fusco glares at his friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This is...three months from now," Reese squints.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Which is roughly how far expiration dates go," Fusco stood up, "which means she's been here recently. Very recently."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And the fact there's produce in the fridge means that she left without planning it," Shaw says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But I've been here since Samaritan. Where was she hiding before she fixed this place up?" Fusco asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Or maybe this isn't where she's been hiding. Maybe this is a safe haven if she takes too much heat up there," Shaw narrows her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's some pretty good detective work, Shaw," Fusco says, "entirely unsupported by evidence, but makes a little more sense than anything else we could possibly assume right now."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks," Shaw narrows her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Root must be in pretty big danger to make Her break her rule," Fusco says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What rule?" Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, when Finch was kidnapped by Root, she didn't help me find him without arm twisting," Reese raises an eyebrow, "or wire twisting."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And when you were in that simulation prison thing, She wouldn't help until Root practically jumped off of a building," Fusco continues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If I had the emotional capacity to be offended by that, I'm sure I would be," Shaw says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But Fusco's right, though. We have to figure out how to help Root, and fast," Reese agrees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But we don't have anywhere to go, or any trail to follow. Remember how hard she was to keep track of before she faked her death?" Shaw points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Until we trapped her in a library, that is," Reese continues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Great. Anybody have a spare library on hand?" Fusco asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This is a disaster. We've been here for like ten minutes and all we have accomplished is senseless bitching at each other," Reese says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"When have we ever in the years we've known each other accomplished anything other than that?" Fusco asks. He kind of has a point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She's right. Okay, so she's been here recently. What exactly do we do with that?" Shaw locks eyes with a photo hanging on the wall behind Root's bed. She looks away too quickly to confirm if it's a photo of the two of them together. Though few there were photos of Shaw, Root had a knack for catching a few good candids.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We do nothing. Not yet, anyway. We have to investigate the rest of the room," Fusco says, "I'll strip the bed. Reese, you look through the dresser. Shaw, you try to look through the computer."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay," Shaw sighs, sitting down in the desk chair. The computer itself seems to be ancient, at least a little old for what Shaw would assume to be Root's taste. She supposes that it's for practical reasons. Older computers are harder to collect information from. It's harder to do anything using an old computer, for that matter. But Root could find a way. She always does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The screen blinks at her. Then it's a startup screen. Owner: Enter password. Shaw hovers over the password hint button. it says "nice try". Shaw swears under her breath. She has no idea why she thought that would work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's the matter?" Fusco asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Enter password," Shaw reads.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How many attempts?" Fusco lifts the mattress, finding a hole cut into the bottom of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It says ten. I have no idea what it could be," Shaw squints at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You knew her better than anyone else. Maybe you could swing a guess," Reese suggests.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>.. / .-- --- ..- .-.. -.. / -. --- - or I would not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Er. Maybe not," Reese corrects, " I guess if anyone knew how to keep someone out of her computer..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's a lie. She knew Root better than I did. So did Finch. Damn it, so did you," Shaw says, "but regardless, I don't think I'm going to be able to get in the laptop. especially if She doesn't think it's a good idea."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"We could ship the computer off and outsource it to someone who knows their way around a computer," Reese looks at the blinking screen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Outsource it?" Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Maybe we could ship it off to four eyes. See if he could do anything useful with it," Fusco suggests.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We're not bothering Finch," Reese says, stern, "we all agreed to leave him out of this stuff since he married Grace. Just because he's the only one of us that got a happily ever after doesn't mean we should go disturbing his."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But Finch did love Root," Fusco points out. He tightens his grip on something deep within the mattress, "ha! Bingo."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I didn't say we couldn't tell Finch that she's alive when all this is over. Of course we're going to," Reese looks up, "but it's not a good idea to involve him. Not right now. He deserves this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're right, but if not Finch, then who?" Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think that I have one idea," Reese takes out her phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And that would be?" Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're not going to like it," Reese says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I rarely like your ideas, Reese," Shaw points out as Reese dials her phone. He picks up on the third ring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, Reese. Buddy. How's it hanging?" There's noise going on behind him. A lot of it, in fact. Gunfire. Slamming of things. Grunting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Pierce, hang up the goddamn phone!" A woman's voice exclaims from behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Tell Harper I said hi," Reese rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Reese says hi. I'm going to step outside!" Logan shouts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fucking Christ Logan, I-" A man's voice is cut off by the sound of a door shutting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can call back later," Reese raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Never too busy for the ever suave and elusive John Reese," Logan waves off her mild concern as sounds of crashing and banging continue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's Lorelai now," Reese corrects.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh right on. What can I do for you?" Logan's tone is unfittingly aloof in comparison to the situation he just stepped outside from.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We have a computer. Most likely pretty heavily encrypted. It's important to this number that we get into it," Reese explains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Who's we?" Logan asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Me, Fusco, Shaw," Reese answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Holy shit. You actually got Shaw to work with you on a case?" Logan is baffled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She actually brought me in to help her," Reese answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I commend you," Logan says, half-joking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Anyway..." Reese is already struggling to keep the conversation focused, which is no surprise, "do you think you could get into a computer encrypted by a former professional hacker?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Please," Logan scoffs, "you insult me by even asking. Who's the lucky hacker?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It occurs to Reese that Logan never got the chance to meet Root.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Remember the person who helped frame Scott Powell for assassinating Michael Delancy back in 2012?" Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That was international news. It got to me in my remote vacation home in Greece. Since I met you, I always had the feeling you might have something to do with clearing that guy's name," Logan seems to be in no hurry to get back to whatever it is Joey and Harper are up to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well?" Reese asks, moving it right along.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, if she's not good enough to avoid being stopped like that, she's not too good for me," Logan answers, "I'll take a look at it. You can swing by later with it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How fast do you think you're gonna be able to get it back to us? We're running on a pretty tight schedule," Reese says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Have a little faith, Lorelai," Logan answers. A door opens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Logan, we could seriously use your help in here," Harper says, her tone making the polite request sound more like a threat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why is that sound so clear? Do you have me on speaker?" Reese asks in disbelief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well yeah. It's loud in there," Logan explains in a duh sort of fashion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Pierce, you're way too smart to be doing dumb stuff like this. Go inside, help your teammates."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're right," Logan sighs, "you know how to find me. Three days maximum on that computer after you drop it off."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Three days?" Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'd say two, but I'm not quite that arrogant," Logan says, "Hasta Luego."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Click.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, good news. It looks like we have ourselves a hacker," Reese puts her phone back in her pocket. It's at this moment that Shaw notices that her ears are pierced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Logan Pierce? Are you serious right now?" Shaw's eyebrows attempt to touch the ceiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I didn't say I wasn't nervous about leaving something this important in his care," Reese folds her arms, "but Pierce means well and he's proved his qualifications multiple times."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not convinced," Shaw says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If you have a better idea to voice, now would be the time, Shaw," Reese knows she has Shaw beat.  Shaw groans and rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fine. Something happens to Root's computer, though-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Like Logan said. You've gotta have a little faith," Reese smiles at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Little is one way to describe it, Reese," Shaw stands up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What do you have there, Fusco?" Reese asks. Shaw turns on her heel. He's got something clasped tight in his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry, I thought this might be the day you two actually kill each other," Fusco laughs, "it's a flash drive. Taped to the inside of Root's mattress. What's on it? I'm not sure."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Might be worth sending off to our mutual friend alongside the computer," Reese suggests.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're awfully trusting for a gal who spends so much time working alone," Fusco says, handing Reese the flash drive, "I hope you're right."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Me too," Reese responds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And what are we supposed to do in the meantime while we wait for Pierce to get the computer back to us?" Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Coney Island could be fun this time of year," Reese smirks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, pass," Shaw starts for the stairs, "call me when your little buddy gets into the laptop. If he doesn't, square one."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then she leaves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can't lead a horse to water, can you?" Fusco asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That, Lionel, like the computer in this investigation, is what we call a start."</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Logan says that he figured out that Reese does what he does out of altruism. Before leaving he gives Reese a present: an expensive watch like the one Logan wears which is accurate to a nanosecond. But later Finch smashes the watch on the ground, revealing a GPS inside, and tells Reese that Logan is just curious enough to be dangerous. Reese muses on the risk posed by an eccentric billionaire with bottomless pockets and a need to know things<br/>-Notes on Logan Pierce, Person of Interest Wiki</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Those Who Can't Do...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>"I look for a picture of you<br/>To keep in my pocket<br/>But I can't seem to find one<br/>Where you look how I remember<br/>Look how I remember"<br/>-From Mitski's "Why Didn't You Stop Me?"</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For the third night this week, Shaw bolts awake in bed. She gasps for air. She rarely dreams, but when she does it's usually about one thing and one thing alone, that being that place, what Greer did to her head. She reminds herself, as calmly as she can manage, that Greer is dead, and he won't be able to get in her brain anymore. </p><p>But if she's having dreams about it, if the last thing she sees is Root watching as Shaw places a gun to her temple and readies fire, if she still holds onto this, years later, Greer has already won. The best that Shaw can hope for is to keep doing as she does and try to keep her focus away from the still extremely vivid visual of shooting Reese while she's trying to help her. </p><p>The unreality envelops her sometimes. Some nights it's all that she can think about. How Shaw had decided that she would rather die than hurt Root. She'd rather die than hurt any one of them, she discovered. But Root was different. Shaw was like an anchor. A north star. And the only thing that Shaw could think of to do was to remove the possibility of ever putting her in danger.</p><p>But Root didn't watch helplessly in real life when Shaw tried to shoot herself, did she? No, she did the one thing that Shaw hadn't been expecting. She put a gun to her own chin and told Shaw that she was going to shoot herself if Shaw did. What a strange thing to hold as a pleasant memory. But she does. A single thread in a much larger picture. Sometimes, Shaw lies awake thinking about her last words to Root, I'll kill you myself. Shaw doesn't get sad at that memory. She gets angry. That's her thing. But Root knows what she meant. She has to. That's the thing. She always knew.</p><p>Shaw's eyes wander to the clock. Three am. It's been only half an hour since she went to sleep in the first place. Even still, Shaw knows she's not going back to sleep. She can never sleep after the nightmares, and with everything going on right now, falling asleep in the first place was enough of a hassle. She stretches, stands, and Bear follows after her. Shaw scratches his ears and he gives her a pleased look. </p><p>Maybe a walk around the block could ease her agitation. No, she thinks, alone. At night. Shaw can kick the ass of nearly anybody willing to cross her, but she doesn't feel like looking for trouble. After all, she has had enough. She walks toward the kitchen. Shaw is always hungry, but for whatever reason, Shaw feels like she's about to faint, so she opens the fridge.</p><p>She curses under her breath for not putting the bacon in the fridge while she slept, and resolves instead to cook herself some eggs. Her kitchen is small. New York City. How could it not be? She pulls the only pan she owns out of the cabinet that is miserably empty without it. She lives alone, she has for a very long time. If she could get away with only having one mug, she would. </p><p>She gets the ingredients out and glances at the photos on her fridge. One would think that if a girl like Shaw were to keep photos, she would keep them hidden in a box somewhere safe. But she keeps them in the open, on her fridge. One of the places where she needs reminders the most. She's always been afraid of her fondness for people fading with distance. </p><p>Pictures of herself with Root, Carter, Cole, not taken herself, of course, but by the machine from video feed as a favor. There has never been much time for candid photos. She has never realized before today how many ghosts haunt these photos. Maybe that says something about the way she lives her life.</p><p>She wonders then, why only when she knows that Root is alive, do the photos on the fridge start to make Shaw uncomfortable. She sets the milk and eggs on the counter. She doesn't remove the photos. After all, she still needs them. She turns them around instead. </p><p>Bear walks up to her and sits, tail wagging as he stares up at her. Shaw reasons she can afford to leave the stove unattended for long enough to get her dog some food. He hardly budges as she does so. His eyes are set on the eggs. Shaw asks him not to beg and he doesn't listen, strangely forgetting his years of likely intense training. </p><p>She sighs at him, tells him no, as if she is not going to give the dog at least some of her food. Bear was a shitty roommate, sure. He was still Shaw's best friend.</p><hr/><p>Reese calls Shaw around six thirty, and Shaw answers on the second ring.</p><p>"Talk," Shaw says, impatiently.</p><p>"Our friend is done with the laptop. He wants to meet with you somewhere private today. I figured I would give you a call before giving him your home address," Reese explains.</p><p>"Why didn't he call me himself?" Shaw asks.</p><p>"For some odd reason, he's afraid of you," Reese smiles to herself like she's said a joke.</p><p>"Tell him we can meet. Not here, though," Shaw says.</p><p>"Too many prying eyes up on the eleventh floor?" Reese asks.</p><p>"No. I just have these guys bugging me enough about joining the team without knowing where exactly I live," Shaw explains.</p><p>"You think that they would just drop by unannounced?" Reese raises an eyebrow.</p><p>"I would not put it past them, especially if the machine sent after me," Shaw sighs, "look, I know a place we can meet. Low security-"</p><p>"If you say the name of that diner again, I swear," Reese shakes her head.</p><p>"Bite me. No, there's a bar  and grill on eighth and a hundred with low security because it's a front for the mob," Shaw explains.</p><p>"You've been making friends with the wrong people?" Reese asks.</p><p>"They are not my friends. And look who I'm talking to," Shaw points out, "It's called the Pearl. Tell him to meet me at noon. If he's late-"</p><p>"Kill him?" Reese finishes.</p><p>"Sure," Shaw says. And then she hangs up. Reese sighs and calls Pierce. He always answers.</p><p>"Hey, Reese, wh-" Logan starts.</p><p>"She wants you to meet at noon. The Pearl on eighth and one hundredth. Don't be late. Shaw will kill you," Reese kept it short.</p><p>"Okay, so-" Reese hangs up before Pierce can finish the sentence. Just as she's about to put her phone away. Caller ID simply says number unavailable. </p><p>"Good morning Reese," a familiar voice says brightly.</p><p>"Am I speaking to thing one or thing two here?" Reese asks.</p><p>"Funny. Allow me to access my library of tv show sound clips to retrieve the most comical robot laugh that I can," She says.</p><p>"Alright. What do you want?" Reese sighs.</p><p>"I have a new number for you," the difference between hers and Root's voices are subtle, but there.  By all accounts, they should be identical. But She cannot replicate the exact manner in which Root's voice wavers. Likewise, Root could never replicate the exact manner in which She speaks.</p><p>"I thought that you wanted us to help Shaw," Reese stops and enters a store.</p><p>"Well, yes. I very much do. But the numbers do not stop coming. I figured given how little Shaw has been allowing you to participate, you might be able to juggle the two at once."</p><p>"I can handle it," Reese says.</p><p>"Okay. Your new number is a woman by the name of Dawn Morales. She teaches seventh grade at Lincoln."</p><p>"Who would want to target a middle school teacher?" Reese asks, quietly as to not alert the clerk at the small convenience store.</p><p>"Well, obviously, that's what I want you to figure out," The Machine says.</p><p>"Wouldn't it be easier if you just told me what was going on so I could help faster?" Reese asks.</p><p>"Obviously that would. You know I can't do that," the machine points out, "you know why I can’t, Lorelai. Don’t pretend that you don’t. And yet you use every opportunity to sass me about it. Don’t think that just because I’m not human I can’t tell someone is being snarky."</p><p>"Mm," Reese rolls her eyes.</p><p>"I saw that."</p><p>"Great. So, I have twenty-four hours?" </p><p>"You're finally catching on. I didn't even have to use Sesame Street characters to explain it," the machine teases, "now, about your cover. Your name is Lorelai Jennings. You are a substitute teacher in English. One of the teachers is having a nasty cold  and won't be back for two days at least."</p><p>"What did you do to the teacher?" Reese asks.</p><p>"Oh, she's fine. I paid her handsomely to take the next two weeks off and fake the injury," The Machine explains.</p><p>"How many teachers did you have to call to find one to accept that shady deal?"</p><p>"Public school teachers are paid very poorly. New York is a very expensive city to live in. You do the math on your own time, Miss Reese. Just throw some Jane Austen at the children and call it a day."</p><p>"Right."</p><p>"I need you to befriend Miss Morales and see if you can gather intel," She instructs, "have a nice day, Reese. Oh, and you had better get down to the school. Class starts at seven-thirty."</p><p>Reese groans as she hangs up. She leaves the store without picking up the items she walked here for. She can't remember what she came for anyway. </p><p>The walk to the school is fairly short, but it is also warm and Reese is wearing a suit. By the time she arrives, she is completely out of breath. Luckily for her, the principal is too frazzled to notice, standing in front of the school. She checks her watch. Seven o'clock</p><p>"Hi," Reese greets, "you wouldn't happen to be the principal here?"</p><p>"Yes. Janine Singer. How do you do?" She asks.</p><p>"Fine, thank you," Reese gives her a hand to shake, "Lorelai Jennings."</p><p>"Ms. Jennings. Thank goodness!" Mrs. Singer beams, "although, you're a little later than I would prefer. We try to make sure that all of our teachers are an hour early."</p><p>"Easy enough," Reese nods. Mrs. Singer opens the door.</p><p>"It really is good that I ran into you out here. You don't know the passcode, being a substitute, and all. Imagine walking into school at the same time as your students," she guffaws.</p><p>"Right," Reese smiles at her politely. Mrs. Singer leads her down the corridor.</p><p>"Ms. Amber faxed her lesson plan over and I already put it on her desk, alongside the building layout," Mrs. Singer continues, "you'd be surprised how many people get lost."</p><p>"I can imagine," Reese says.</p><p>"Your classroom is adjoined with another's, so if you have any questions, feel free to ask Ms. Morales next door between periods. But if she can't answer something, she should be able to, you may visit me as well at the front of the school," Mrs. Singer explains brightly, "school lets out at three fifteen, your lunch break is at one. That should be all," she stops walking.</p><p>"Got it," Reese says.</p><p>"Perfect," Mrs. Singer grins, "well, here we are. I hope that's everything. Oh! And this isn't really an issue, but if you wouldn't mind doing something with your hair. It's just that the messy ponytail look isn't too professional."</p><p>"Uh, sure," Reese reflexively reaches for her hair.</p><p>"Alright. Well, then I'll leave you to review your lesson plan before the students arrive," Mrs singer smiles, "oh. Any more questions? I would hate for you to have to bother Ms. Morales while she's getting ready for the day, she's a little bit high strung."</p><p>"Uh, nope, I think that's it. But I should at least introduce myself?" Reese asks.</p><p>"There will be plenty of time to introduce yourself later in the day," Mrs. Singer says sternly. We take education very seriously here. I want you to be focused and on your best behavior!"</p><p>"But I-" </p><p>"Have a nice first day, Ms. Jennings!" Mrs. Singer waves as she walks away, leaving no room for Reese to question her further. Great. She walks into her classroom. It's going to be a very long day.</p><hr/><p>Shaw is early to arrive at The Pearl. She walks inside and the hostess offers her a booth. She doesn't think she can eat right now. Who could? She orders a beer and calls that good for a little while. Of course, as soon as the clock reads 12:01, she is immediately annoyed at Logan for being late. She should have known. </p><p>The place is fairly empty, which is to be expected at this time of day for this place. Their lunch hour runs until five, leaving the customers much less motivation to come at noon. Dinner, however, tends to be busy. That's why Shaw likes this place for a meeting, empty and big. If you say something incriminating, nobody calls the police. </p><p>She sits and she waits for Logan, recalling only ever having met him once or twice, and not once has he made a good impression on her. Now she's trusting him with her most valued clue to Root's whereabouts. The uncertainty of the situation is enough to leave Shaw agitated to say the least. </p><p>And now the clock seems to have stopped. The stupid coca-cola clock next to the singing bass that kids love to mess with has finally died after being hung in its place for likely decades has stopped and...no, the minute hand moves. 12:02. She wonders what could possibly be keeping him. With how angry she's getting, at least he should be trapped in his trunk, held there by a bear whom Pierce owes some money. Either that or caught up with a number. That seems more likely.</p><p>He finally walks through the door. As the hostess speaks to him, he waves over at her with a smile. Shaw rolls her eyes and waves back. He approaches her and sits down.</p><p>"Hey, Shaw," he greets, setting a computer, though, strangely, not the one he has been given, on the table. </p><p>"What is that?" Shaw asks.</p><p>"It's my laptop. They're very popular these days," Logan says.</p><p>"Pierce, I don't have time to dick around. This is important," Shaw growls.</p><p>"I know that. It's just going to take a second for my laptop to get into gear. Be patient," he requests. </p><p>"Fine. What kept you?" She asks, folding her arms.</p><p>"What?" Logan raises an eyebrow, then looks at the clock, "Shaw, it's 12:05."</p><p>"I told you not to be late," Shaw says.</p><p>"Yeah, well," he clears his throat, "I'm sorry for being late. I was going to be here on time, but there was this man on the street selling watches, and you don't see watches this nice on the street for prices so low every day. I decided to get myself a little reward for being your helper monkey."</p><p>"Right, okay," Shaw raises an eyebrow. The server approaches.</p><p>"What can I get you, sir?" he asks.</p><p>"I'll take a mimosa if you have them. And an egg sandwich," Logan says, "keep those mimosas coming, my man."</p><p>"Uh, sure," the waiter writes it down.</p><p>"It's noon," Shaw points out.</p><p>"You're drinking a beer," Logan retorts.</p><p>"Yeah, well," she takes a swig, "rough week."</p><p>"Every week is a rough week for us, Shaw."</p><p>"Right. So, did you find anything?" Shaw asks.</p><p>"Ah, yes. Hang on," he messes around with his computer some, "this computer was encrypted to hell and back. Eventually, I just tried to access the hard drive directly, and it crashed my home computer. Your girl here is very sophisticated in the way she operates." </p><p>"Reese mentioned that to you, I'm sure."</p><p>"Right. It took me two days, almost straight to even unlock this thing. Once I got in, though, it was incredibly easy to access all of the files."</p><p>"Sounds like her stuff isn't as secure as it should be."</p><p>"Well, not many people are banking on a system this advanced to get broken into. Anyway, her history was on a private network with a very secure VPN so nobody could get in. Even still, I managed to access what was left of her history. The only websites that came up multiple times were travel websites."</p><p>"Travel websites?"</p><p>"Yeah. And she recently purchased a ticket to Peru under a false name. The flight was two weeks ago. And that's not even the weirdest part. I went into flight records, and she took a flight to Brazil four days later. Maybe to shake us off her trail because she knew we were looking. That's what I would do."</p><p>"That means we don't know that she's in Rio, though. She could have ditched that Identity. When I knew Root, she was never the same person for very long," Shaw points out.</p><p>"But that's the thing. That same card was accessed as late as yesterday afternoon. In case you're wondering, it was at a restaurant. She was spending pretty frivolously which might mean this is not her card. She's bouncing around hotels like a freaking pinball, though."</p><p>"Hm," Shaw narrows her eyes.</p><p>"Do you speak Portuguese, Shaw?" Logan asks, "It might seem suspicious with you walking around asking questions about this girl in another country."</p><p>"Not nearly as well as the other languages I speak," Shaw answers, "unless you know someone who speaks fluent Portuguese, I don't think we have time to get hung up on that."</p><p>"Actually, as a matter of fact, I do," Logan perks up, "you know her, in fact."</p><p>"Harper?" Shaw guesses.</p><p>"Harper," Logan echoes. Don't worry, 2.0 can survive without her for a few days while she runs off with you. I took the liberty of buying all three of your tickets. Coach. I thought about getting you first class, but let's face it. That's a little flashy. You're gonna want to lay low, right?" </p><p>"Who is the three of us?" Shaw asks.</p><p>"Well, I assume Reese is going too," Logan says, "I thought you guys were working together again."</p><p>"Well," Shaw sighs, "we are. But I don't appreciate you going over my head like this."</p><p>"Right," Logan shrugs, "I thought you were anxious to get going so I thought it was better to secure travel plans sooner rather than later."</p><p>It occurs to Shaw that Logan is trying to be considerate. She sighs.</p><p>"Thanks," she says, "when do we leave?"</p><p>"Your flight leaves tomorrow night at ten. It was the earliest I could."</p><p>"Ten tomorrow is fine," Shaw says.</p><p>"Oh, and I'm gonna hang onto that computer, for now, to see what else I can trace," he adds, "if that's alright, I mean."</p><p>"Whatever," Shaw shrugs. She tosses a five on the table and stands to leave.</p><hr/><p>When lunch finally arrives, Reese notices Ms. Morales sitting at her desk alone.</p><p>"Mind if I sit in here?" Reese asks, "at my last couple of schools, the faculty all sat together."</p><p>"The faculty sits together here, too, I just like being on my own," she explains, not looking up.</p><p>"Oh," says Reese, "no problem."</p><p>She turns to leave. This woman seems like a pretty closed book. It might be difficult to get close to her.</p><p>"Wait," Ms Morales says, and Reese freezes, "sorry. I didn't mean to scare you off. You can sit in here. If you still want to, I mean."</p><p>"Thanks," Reese says.</p><p>"Between the two of us, wanting to be alone is not the issue. Have you talked to any of the other teachers?" she asks.</p><p>"Well, I talked to Principal Singer," Reese answers.</p><p>"You see what I mean?" Ms. Morales asks with a smile. </p><p>"Yeah, she's a little, uh-"</p><p>"Pain in the ass is what she is. And extremely annoying," she put on a fake smile, "you get a gold star for being the best teacher today! I mean, what the hell is that?"</p><p>"Funny, she said you were high strung," Reese says, "though, and no offense to her judgment, I'm not seeing that at all."</p><p>"Well, you'd be the first, but thanks," Ms. Morales takes a sip of her tea, "this is your first time teaching seventh graders, I assume?"</p><p>"Is it really that obvious?" Reese sighs.</p><p>"Well, you look terrified, for one thing," she says, "oh god. You're a substitute. They must have eaten you alive."</p><p>"Well, I wouldn't say that, exactly," Reese clears her throat, determined not to look like a bunch of children have been depleting her self-esteem at an astounding rate.</p><p>"You don't have to be embarrassed. Thirteen-year-olds are running around pissed off to hell and they're short which makes them angrier," she paused, "the worst part is, when they insult you, it's funny."</p><p>"Yeah," Reese spins a chair around.</p><p>"Between the kids and the faculty I have plenty to wake up shrieking over," she says.</p><p>"Thank God the pay is garbage or you'd almost have something to look forward to," Reese smiles.</p><p>"We wouldn't want that. If my spirit wasn't broken how would I find it in me to come to this godforsaken place every morning?" Ms. Morales shudders, jokingly, then extends a hand, "I'm Ms. Morales, by the way. But you can call me Dawn."</p><p>"Lorelai Jennings," Reese takes her hand, thinking she might be making progress.</p><p>"So, Lorelai," Dawn says, "how long have you been teaching?"</p><p>"Uh," she struggles, briefly, to recall the information on her cover that the machine sent, "eighteen months now, I think?"</p><p>"Wow, you're new," her eyes grow wide, "I mean, it's pretty obvious you're new but I didn't know that...nevermind."</p><p>"It's okay," Reese laughs, "hopefully I don't have quite the cynicism you do when I get out of here."</p><p>"That's what they all say," she clicks her tongue.</p><p>"If you don't mind my asking, if you hate it here..."</p><p>"Why do I get out of bed for this in the morning?" She finishes, "Tell you the truth I have been looking for other work. I just can't leave now. Not yet, anyway."</p><p>"Why not?"</p><p>"Well, the students can be a little difficult to deal with, but they're still my students," she explains, "and I'm afraid a few of them...won't be as looked after if I leave."</p><p>"Any particular students come to mind?"</p><p>"Dude, chill out on the interrogation," she says, "I have enough stress already without worrying about weirdos off the street trying to know me."</p><p>"Right," Reese nods, "sorry. I prod with new people. English major."</p><p>"I get it," she sighs, "but I don't tell strangers this stuff. I barely tell my actual friends stuff like this. So if you don't mind putting your psychology textbooks back on the shelf and have a normal conversation with me, that would be great."</p><p>"Sure," Reese agrees, "what, exactly, does a normal conversation consist of?"</p><p>"You know, small talk. Think of something really boring to say and present it like exciting new information. Then I can pretend I'm interested even though secretly I'm this close to shoving a pencil into my ear just so I don't have to listen to you talk anymore."</p><p>Reese pauses. It occurs to her that she really doesn't have anything especially boring to say. Maybe this is a good thing. </p><p>"It's..." Reese sighs, "it's a hot one out there."</p><p>"Oh god," Dawn groans, "I hate that."</p><p>"Me, too. That's why I said it. I was trying to think of something extremely boring."</p><p>"Well, you think that's bad? Try this one," Dawn clears her throat and then speaks as monotonously as possible, "my hubby and I are painting the living room, but we can't agree. Will you come over here and help us pick between five of the most identical shades of green you've ever seen in your life?"</p><p>"I don't suppose that one's based on a true story, is it?" Reese raises an eyebrow.</p><p>"The school librarian and nurse are married. You wouldn't believe the number of boring conversations I've been dragged into."</p><p>The bell rings before either one of them can continue their battle of boring. Dawn sighs, puts the remainder of her sandwich in her desk and mimes putting a gun to her head.</p><p>"Well, thanks for joining me in my private circle of hell," she says, "I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did." </p><p>"Oh, I enjoyed it," Reese says.</p><p>"Good," she straightens her stack of papers.</p><p>"Hey, you know, I've barely left my apartment since I moved here," Reese lies through her teeth, "if you know a good place to eat."</p><p>"Oh! Well, maybe after school I can show you one of my favorite spots," she offers. Reese sighs in relief, while simultaneously hanging onto the thought that maybe this is starting to become too easy.</p><hr/><p>Date: March 12, 1983</p><p>A fourteen-year-old Lorelai stands in her bedroom alone, staring out the window. She watches as the kids across the street playing basketball. </p><p>"Come on, Sport, we've gotta go!" her mom shouts up the stairs. Reese reluctantly reaches for her backpack</p><p>"Yeah, yeah," Reese rolls her eyes and puts on her shoes.</p><p>"Now, John, I'm not mad at you," Margaret says as she grabs her keys, "I'm just worried about you, is all. I hope you take this as a lesson not to resort to violence."</p><p>"Dad was in the army," Reese points out, "I don't think you should be preaching about peace, Mom."</p><p>"John, don't speak about your father that way," she scolds.</p><p>"I just don't get it. He was wailing on this kid," Reese tries to defend herself.</p><p>"But that doesn't give you the right to beat him up," Margaret retorts, "bullies always get what's coming to them."</p><p>"Then how come I'm the one who got Saturday detention and he just gets away with it?" Reese asks. She sighs, shakes her head, and opens the front door.</p><p>When they get to the school, Margaret tells Reese she loves her and then drives off. Reese pushes the doors open. The halls carry a strange echo when the building is empty, not that it's unfamiliar to Reese. This is not her first Saturday detention, and it certainly won't be her last. </p><p>They rotate which teacher is in charge of weekend detention. Reese supposes that's to keep it fair.  Today, it's Ms. Turner in the library, quietly reading pride and prejudice as Reese walks in. Reese doesn't know her all that well. She doesn't have a class with her. But Ms. Turner seems pretty alright. She teaches art.</p><p>"Morning," Ms. Turner closes her book, "please, have a seat."</p><p>"I'm the only one here today?" Reese asks.</p><p>"That's right," Ms. Turner nods, "I'm afraid everyone else was too busy trying to get finals done to cause trouble."</p><p>"I wasn't trying to cause trouble," Reese says.</p><p>"So why don't you tell me what happened, exactly?" Ms. Turner asks, "from the beginning."</p><p>"I don't know, someone had to step in. This kid was bullying a much smaller defenseless kid and I guess my instincts took over," Reese explains. </p><p>"Who was bullying who? You might not think it's important, but I do," Ms. Turner pushes her round glasses up the bridge of her nose.</p><p>"He was picking on Simon Hart," Reese answers with a bit of hesitation.</p><p>"I know him. He's in my fourth period. Sweet sweet kid," she says, not breaking eye contact, "but who is he?"</p><p>"Eric Kelly," Reese answers.</p><p>"Hm," Ms. Turner swirls a spoon around in her mug, "so you picked a fight with a football player. I'm kind of impressed. It takes a lot of courage to do what you did."</p><p>"Thank you," Reese says. </p><p>"Do you have any idea why Eric felt the need to pick on poor Simon?" Ms. Turner asks.</p><p>"I don't know," Reese isn't very good at lying. Not yet, anyway. She hasn't had enough practice. Ms. Turner sees right through her. </p><p>"I want you to know that this is a judgment-free zone, John," Lorelai tries to ignore the way her shoulders tense when someone calls her that, "I suppose that doesn't matter much at all to you. Adults are still all lame narcs."</p><p>"Alright," Reese finally sits down, in the front row instead of her usual spot way in the back and off-center, "you need to promise me that you don't tell the principal."</p><p>"Just this once, you may have my word," Ms. Turner says. Reese still hesitates. But Ms. Turner is so nice. She's just an art teacher. She's wearing handcrafted earrings that look like tea kettles. All teachers are in cahoots with the principal. That's the standard. But Reese can't picture this sweet lady breaking a promise not to rat.</p><p>"It wasn't a real fight at first. Eric was making fun of Simon for being adopted. He said that not even Simon's parents wanted him. And then Simon punched him in the stomach."</p><p>"I see," Ms. Turner's eyes widen. </p><p>"It probably hurt Simon's fist more than Eric's stomach. But after that, Simon was going to make him pay. And well...Eric is so big, and Simon is so small," Reese continues, "you saw his black eye. I should have gotten between them sooner."</p><p>"Well, that is definitely unacceptable of Eric. So," she tilts her head, "how come you didn't tell us that to begin with?"</p><p>"I didn't want Simon to get into trouble for throwing the first punch," Reese says.</p><p>"Is that all?" Ms. Turner leans over her desk.</p><p>"No," Reese admits, "the principal would have had me for life if I told him why Eric was beating up Simon."</p><p>"Why's that?" </p><p>"Hm," Reese says. And that's all. She's determined to keep her jaw wired shut for the remainder of this meeting.</p><p>"John..."</p><p>"Because I'm adopted too, alright?" Reese finally huffs, "and I swear that wasn't the reason I stepped in. I swear it wasn't. But I mean, I know how it looks."</p><p>"I believe you," Ms. Turner smiles, "but can I ask you something?"</p><p>"I guess," Reese shrugs.</p><p>"I know that's not the reason you stepped in, but is that, perhaps, the reason that you beat up Eric so...much?" she asks, "You nearly broke his rib. If a teacher hadn't noticed sooner, he wouldn't be able to play football for the rest of the season."</p><p>"Well..." Reese trails off.</p><p>"It's okay to have anger issues, you know," Ms. Turner says.</p><p>"It is?" Reese raises an eyebrow.</p><p>"Of course it is. We act like it's only okay to be happy, but humans need to feel other emotions, too. It's natural to be angry, or sad, or whatever else," she continues, "tell me, did something Eric said to Simon speak to something that makes you angry?"</p><p>"Man," Reese sighs, "I guess so."</p><p>"Like what?"</p><p>"You're really not to back off, are you?"</p><p>"Otherwise it's eight hours of awkward silence, and my Discman broke," she answers. Reese takes a long time to respond.</p><p>"I mean...my birth parents gave me up because they were too young. I was adopted by one of my birth mom's best friends," Reese explains.</p><p>"Does that mean you had the chance to get to know your birth parents?" she asks.</p><p>"No. My birth parents died in a car accident when I was two years old," Reese speaks slowly, "but my mom, I mean my adoptive mother, tells me about her sometimes. Her name was Laura, short for Lorelai. She was going to be a veterinarian. I think I would have liked her."</p><p>"I see," Ms. Turner looks sad for a moment, but then she smiles, "I wasn't adopted, but I spent many years after my father died in a foster home."</p><p>"Yeah?" Reese suddenly doesn't feel like she's in the library with a teacher. She feels like she's talking to a real person.</p><p>"I was often sad or angry because I felt like I had been abandoned. Even though my parents didn't choose this for themselves. It felt malicious of them, and then I felt malicious for even considering blaming them. It was a vicious cycle. You know what I mean?"</p><p>"I think I do," Reese nods, "not so much about my birth parents, though."</p><p>"But about someone?" Ms. Turner asks.</p><p>"Well..." Reese hesitates, "my dad. The one who raised me. He died when I was little." </p><p>"And that makes you feel angry?"</p><p>"No. Well, I mean...sometimes. Sometimes," Reese exhales, "he was a good man. And I loved him. But when he got back from Vietnam, I sort of thought I was done having to worry about him. And then..."</p><p>"Then he passed away," Ms. Turner finishes, "that certainly is a lot to deal with."</p><p>"It's fine," Reese shrugs, "I don't see how any of this is, like, relevant."</p><p>"It only is if you think it is," Ms. Turner says, "I think you did the right thing, John."</p><p>"You do?" Reese straightens her spine in surprise.</p><p>"I do," she nods.</p><p>"Cool," is all that Reese can manage.</p><p>"But that doesn't mean I don't want you to seek out more constructive outlets for your anger," she continues.</p><p>"Constructive outlets?" Reese asks.</p><p>"Have you ever considered painting? Or sculpting? Woodworking?" she asks.</p><p>"Why? Do you want me in your art class next semester?" Reese asks. She's not sure how she feels about this.</p><p>"No. I'm asking if you want to paint right now," Ms. Turner answers. </p><p>"Uh," Reese sort of gawks at her request.</p><p>"I have a lot of leftover supplies in my classroom. Stuff from when we were doing watercolors last month."</p><p>"I dunno," Reese says, "I'm not sure if I would like it."</p><p>"You'll never know until you try," Ms. Turner points out.</p><p>"I mean," Reese lowers her voice, "really?"</p><p>"Of course! Doesn't that sound more fun than sitting here studying?" she asks, "If it does, please feel free to stay here and do that. Or you could read. This isn't the best library in the world, but there's no shortage of reading material."</p><p>"No!"</p><p>"No?" Ms. Turner tilts her head.</p><p>"I mean, painting sounds fun. I just wasn't sure if that was...allowed."</p><p>"It's really not," Ms. Turner answers without hesitation, "but I don't think the way Saturday detention is run is in any way constructive."</p><p>"I agree," Reese smiles.</p><p>"Come on then," she stands up. It's only just now that Reese realizes that Ms. Turner is wearing sneakers with her colorful orange dress.</p><p>Reese finds that she actually does enjoy painting. Quite a bit, in fact. Even though she's bad at it. Ms. Turner says her paintings are expressive, which is a nice way of saying that nobody could tell what on Earth was going on in the paintings even if they tried. But it doesn't matter to Reese. She's having fun.</p><p>At the end of the day, Ms. Turner tells Margaret how well behaved Reese had been. Margaret thanks her, sort of baffled, and Ms. Turner goes back inside, telling Reese on her way that if she ever winds up in detention again, which she will because she is Reese, Ms. Turner wouldn't mind looking after her again. This is a promise she keeps.</p><hr/><p>As soon as the bell rings at the end of the school day, Reese stops nearly mid-sentence in order to release her students. Which the students, of course, find odd, but they're not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. When the classroom empties, Reese looks through the window in the door of the classroom. Looks like Dawn is still teaching. Reese's phone rings. It's Shaw.</p><p>"Hey, Shaw," Reese says.</p><p>"Are you busy?" Shaw asks.</p><p>"Sort of working on a number right now, Shaw," Reese says, "we're about to go get food."</p><p>"Let me know when you're done with that," Shaw groans in annoyance, "I don't care if you're done eating at two in the morning, I want you over here at three."</p><p>Dawn dismisses her class and starts for the door.</p><p>"Listen, I can't really talk right now," Reese says.</p><p>"But you understand, right?" Shaw asks.</p><p>"Yes. I'll be on my way as soon as we drop off the check," Reese says.</p><p>"Good," Shaw still sounds a little antsy, but Reese doesn't have time for this. Dawn opens the door.</p><p>"Tell Pops I said hi. And the quilt is perfect!" Reese says.</p><p>"Um, what are you-" Shaw starts.</p><p>"Talk to you later, Grandma. Love you," Reese continues.</p><p>"Uh-huh. Love you too, pal," Reese can practically hear her rolling her eyes. Reese hangs up.</p><p>"Sorry. I promised I'd call to let her know how my first day went," Reese explains.</p><p>"That's fine!" Dawn smiles, "Are you ready to go?"</p><p>"Yep," Reese grabs her jacket off the back of the chair. She hopes she can help Dawn. She really, really does.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"[Lorelai] was close with [her] adoptive father, Conor, and claims that when [Lorelai] was eight Conor tried to teach [her] how to drive and he damaged some neighbors' property. It is mentioned that Conor was an Army soldier and died shortly after returning from his fourth combat tour in Vietnam when [Lorelai] was a child. He went back into a situation described as being "the gates of Hell" and gave his life to save four people. The death of [her] adoptive father in such a heroic way inspired [Lorelai] to save lives [herself]."<br/>-Notes on Reese's early life from the Person of Interest Wiki</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Do As I Say, Not As I Do</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>"But if I saw her on the street I'd say,<br/>"My baby fly back to me."<br/>From Mother Mother's "Love Stuck"</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>She was supposed to be here half an hour ago. It's this club that Harper frequents. Harper doesn't really keep phones. Not for long, anyway. Not that Shaw is in a place to pass judgement on that, having gone through about a dozen phones in a little less than four months. But Logan told her she would catch Harper here most likely, at around this time of day, so here she waits, the ice in her coke starting to melt. Shaw is beginning to realize, more than anything, she hates waiting for these people to show up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hates to admit it, but she sort of misses the Machine talking in her ear constantly. At least she would be annoyed instead of bored and annoyed. Finally, she spots Harper sitting on a barstool clear at the other side of the club and starts after her, leaving the idiot that was attempting to greet her mid-sentence. She hates small talk, anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Harper," Shaw greets dryly, taking the empty seat next to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sameen?" Harper raises an eyebrow, "If there's one person I wouldn't expect to be here, it's you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not here for fun," Shaw shoots her a glare, sort of annoyed at Harper's statement. Shaw is muted, but she likes to have a good time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right," Harper traces the rim of her glass, "what's up?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I hear you speak Portuguese," Shaw leans forward, "how well?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Perfeito," Harper answers, looking up, "why? Are you looking for a tutor?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Close," Shaw narrows her eyes, "I have a number in Brazil."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She has teams in Brazil," Harper says, "why would you need to go?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This one's personal," Shaw answers. Harper glances around the room to make sure nobody is close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation, at least, not under the blaring music.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Explain," Harper requests, lifting her glass in her hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If I do, you're going to be offline the whole time we're there," Shaw warns, "it's better to keep it vague."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Offline?" Harper repeats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She isn't allowed to intervene in this one. The less you know, the better," Shaw knows that Harper is going to ask anyway, but at least Shaw can say that she tried to deter her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Consider my interest piqued," Harper narrows her eyes, "I'm not going to Brazil no questions asked, Shaw."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Root," Shaw says, and she's tempted not to elaborate further.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Root?" Harper asks, "That was the friend of your guy with the glasses, right?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's her," Shaw nods. She could sort out her whole complicated history with Root here and now for clarity's sake, but friend of the guy with the glasses is so much more concise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I heard she passed away," Harper clenched her fist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She was shot," Shaw answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm really very sorry," Harper says. Her delivery leaves something to be desired, but Shaw doesn't have time to speculate on how she would interpret that if she was the type to care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, I guess it's fine," Shaw clears her throat, "given that she's not dead."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" Harper's eyes widen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's funny, I should have known," Shaw looks down, "her grave. After the funeral, it was empty."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Odd."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She told me that the reason was to get to her cochlear implant," Shaw explains, "but I should have known something was up. She kept saying Samantha Groves is dead. She wouldn't say Root."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why would the Machine lie?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She didn't. She was very careful not to. She gave me the name of one of Root's aliases," Shaw continues, "but Root caught on. She told me not to keep looking for her."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"People who don't want to be found don't typically call the person searching for them," Harper says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sharp observation," Shaw mumbles, half-sarcastically, "anyway. Logan said it was better for you to go. Thought it might be suspicious if I was in another country, asking questions about a girl in English. So."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So you need me there to help get info," Harper finishes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Need is a very strong word, Rose," Shaw squints.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sure, for you, it is," Harper sips her drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The flight leaves tomorrow night. Ten," Shaw says, "Logan booked the seats."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"First class?" Harper asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Coach," Shaw answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Cheap bastard," Harper mumbles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He said coach will help us lay low," Shaw explains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sure it will," Harper sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So?" Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So what?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you going with, or not?" Shaw can almost feel her patience wearing thin as she speaks to Harper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, I'm going," Harper says, "sounds like fun."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This isn't a vacation," Shaw points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Boy, you're gonna be fun to share a weekend with," Harper rolls her eyes, "let me guess. You're bringing Lorelai too?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I am," Shaw says. She knows Harper is joking. This doesn't stifle the temptation to scream. Not nearly as well as it should, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I wish I didn't ask," Harper sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right," Shaw stands, "I'm gonna go. I still have to pack and all."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The Machine cut you off, remember? I sincerely doubt you need twenty-four hours to pack."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So what?" Shaw's shoulders stiffen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So," Harper gestures at Shaw's seat, "stick around for a little while. I'll buy you a drink."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why would you do that?" Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You look like you've aged fifty years since I last saw you. And that was only a few weeks ago."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You have a way with words, Harper," Shaw scowls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Better than drinking alone though, isn't it?" Harper asks smugly. Shaw takes her words into consideration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're right," Shaw sighs, sitting back down.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>"I've never been to this place before," Reese says, marking the first honest thing she's said since she got off the phone with the Machine this morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's one of my favorites," Dawn says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can I help you ladies?" the host asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Booth for two, please," Dawn says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right this way," the host says brightly. He leads them to the very corner of the restaurant. There's a pair of senior citizens at the next table. They're not married, Reese determines. No, they're on a date.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can I get you ladies anything to drink?" he asks. Reese snaps out of detective mode.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Iced tea for me," Reese answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll have a coke," Dawn says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure, I'll be right back with that for you," the host says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So," Dawn says, opening the menu, "when you're not teaching, what do you do?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Huh?" Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Like, for fun. You said you don't really leave the apartment," Dawn tilts her head, "I was just curious."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I like to cook," Lorelai says, "though I'm not good at much besides pancakes."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Pancakes are good," Dawn says, "who doesn't like pancakes?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"People who have to eat pancakes every day," Reese shrugs, "what about you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My sister runs a daycare. I go and help out after school," she pauses, "I mean, that's what I usually do."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You really like kids, huh?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I do. I really do," Dawn answers, "I wouldn't have become a teacher if I didn't."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm in it for the salary," Reese jokes, and she laughs. It's a first. Usually, Reese's jokes earn a sigh or an eye-roll.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right, let me know how that works out for you," Dawn snorts, "no, but seriously. Why did you get into teaching?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well..." Reese considers. There was a time, at some point, before Finch, before the army, when Reese was just a teenager, that she sincerely did want to become a teacher. This aspiration was pushed to the back of her mind in her later years of high school and shelved entirely when she was arrested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you alright?" Dawn asks, "You look like a deer caught in the headlights."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm okay," Reese digs her nails into her suit, "it's a long story."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We've got time," Dawn points out, "tell you what. I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay," Reese sighs, "when I was fourteen, I met an art teacher in detention."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good start," Dawn leans forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She was so much nicer than the other teachers were to me. All of the other ones thought I was a delinquent," Reese explains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Were you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not the point," Reese smiles, "anyway. She gave my anger issues an outlet. She let me paint and sculpt. She made me feel like I was understood and like my feelings had a place. I remember she told me that people can't be happy all the time and negative emotions are not evil."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sounds like a great teacher."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She gave me a set of paints for my birthday. Not bought new, of course, but leftovers from her place that she wasn't going to use. I still don't know if I believe that. I spent the whole summer painting," Reese's wistful look quickly fades, "the first day of sophomore year, I showed up an hour early just so I could show her my paintings."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What did she think?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She...well, she didn't," Reese hesitates, "I found out she had passed away over the summer."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm so sorry," Dawn knits her brow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I was so upset about what happened, I told my mother to throw my paintings away. I got rid of my paints, too. I didn't want anything to remind me of...anyway, I regretted it instantly. But it was too late."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Have you painted since?" Dawn asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No," Reese says, "but I remembered that I wanted to be something to a student like she was to me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wow," is all Dawn can manage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Anyway," Reese brushes it off, "what's yours?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Here are those drinks for you," the waiter says, "do y'all know what you want to eat?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sesame burger and fries," Reese answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can I get a summer salad?" Dawn asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure thing!" the waiter turns on his heel and walks away. Reese's earpiece beeps at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm going to go use the lady's room," Reese quickly stands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay," Dawn shrugs. When Reese reaches the bathroom, She begins talking immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How's it going?" The Machine asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't be coy," Reese says, "I hate it when you do that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That certainly seems like the general opinion today."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What are you calling for?" Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There isn't time for this," She says, "ask her...about her pin."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ask her about her pin?" Reese repeats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And eat quickly. Someone who does not like Dawn is on their way."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Excuse me?" Reese asks. There's static before Reese can ask for elaboration. Great. She washes her hands and returns to the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Our food should just be another minute or two," Dawn says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can't wait," Reese smiles, "I have a question for you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ask away," Dawn waves a hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's that pin for?" she asks. It's gold plated, with a blue flower in the middle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This? It's nothing," Dawn is tempted to cover it up, "just an award."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"An award?" Reese asks with far more enthusiasm than Dawn is prepared for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It," Dawn sighs, "please don't make this into a big deal."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I promise."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Six months ago, the school security system was entirely compromised, and when it was down, thousands of dollars were stolen. We had to cancel a school field trip, cut funding for the music program. The kids were crushed. The higher-ups wrote it off as a freak thing, stating the security system being compromised was not an issue of the security system itself. But it happened again. So I...built a new security system."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wow," says Reese.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The only way to shut it down is from the inside of the system. It can't be accessed remotely, either. It can only be shut down by the superintendent himself, or," she pauses, "me, of course."</span>
</p><p> <span>"Sounds very sophisticated for a middle school," Reese observes.</span></p><p>
  <span>"It is," Dawn agrees, "but I don't want anything bad to happen to those kids. And with the security system compromised...anyway. Better to be safe. Right?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Have you thought about selling these systems?" Reese asks, "I know a handful of security systems around the city, banks, hospitals, that could use something like that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A very odd thing to say," The Machine buzzes, "tell her your cover while you're at it, why don't you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Really, I think you could help a lot of people with this," Reese elects to ignore her electronic friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, no," Dawn shakes her head, "it's nothing special, I can promise you that. It's just that it's a bit advanced for a public middle school."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It sounds very special," Reese protests, "tell me that you at least sold it to the school for a little chunk of money."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I couldn't do that. Not after my school had already lost so much. I gave them my system for free."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dawn Morales, you are nothing short of a saint," Reese smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks," she says, "I've been building computers and such with my dad since I was little. I'm glad to see something I built actually getting some use instead of sitting in my father's garage."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You guys need to go," The Machine says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Now?" Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Eh?" Dawn looks up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, now. Go now," The Machine repeats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I left my wallet in the car. Would you come with me? I don't like walking alone at night," Reese stands up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, sure," Dawn grabs her purse and follows suit, in the most pun intended fashion possible. They head outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They don't even make it to the car before a man approaches them with a gun. Dawn stumbles backward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're coming with me, Miss Morales," he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Gun. Sideways. I am so sick of giving this speech to you morons," Reese sighs and delivers a blow to the man's groin, and then takes the gun out of his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Woah," Dawn says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We need to get out of here, now," Reese grabs her wrist and begins running.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're not really a teacher, are you?" Dawn raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What gave it away?" Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, who the hell are you?" she asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Let's just say I hear about people in trouble and I help any way that I can," Reese explains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"In trouble? What kind of-" Dawn doesn't get to the end of her sentence before another gun is raised to her face. She looks up and gasps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Surprised, dear?" Mrs. Singer asks. Dawn doesn't answer before she and Reese are both knocked out from behind.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Shaw zips open her suitcase. It is a little dusty for her liking. It has been, after all, quite a while since her last field trip. She begins placing clothes in. She considers bringing weapons but remembers that she's flying coach and that is not likely a good idea. Her heels sit by the door, useful for covers in formal settings. They're highly uncomfortable. She packs them with the most available reluctance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bear walks towards her with a quizzical look on his face. Oh god, Bear. She has forgotten to make arrangements for Bear. With this short notice, it's going to be hard to reserve a kennel. She pulls out her phone and dials.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No," Fusco says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I haven't even asked you anything yet," Shaw protests.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You don't need to. I know you're going to ask me to do something stupid. You have never once woken me up with a good phone call," Fusco says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's midnight, you loser," Shaw raises an eyebrow, "look. I'm going on a trip."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A trip where?" Fusco asks. Shaw stays silent, Root's meddling being a factor, "Oh. Gotcha."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm leaving tomorrow and I forgot to arrange anything for Bear," she continues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You just want me to watch your dog?" Fusco asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He's your dog, too," Shaw points out, "and Reese's dog."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sharing custody of my kid was bad enough," Fusco sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Lee loves dogs," Shaw continues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That he does," Fusco admits, "alright, fine. I'll watch him. But why can't Lorelai?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Lorelai's coming with me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And I wasn't invited?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Short notice. Very short notice. We might be gone for a week or longer."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I have open investigations going."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Exactly my point," Fusco says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, you're watching the dog?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure," Fusco tries his best to pretend that he's not completely excited about this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Cool," Shaw hangs up and keeps packing. She's never been one for long phone calls.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Reese comes to tied to a chair. She has woken up in worse places.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why are you doing this to us?" Dawn demands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Aw, Honey, like you really don't know," Mrs. Singer approaches them with caution.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can assure you that I do not!" Dawn attempts to find any wiggle room in her restraints. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You really don't?" Mrs. Singer asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I really don't," Dawn narrows her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Huh," Mrs. Singer seems unsure how to proceed, "fine. Then I'll tell you what you did. See, last year, Superintendant Johnstone cut my salary by a significant amount."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He cut my salary, too," Dawn attempts to sympathize with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shut up," Mrs. Singer commands, "I began formulating a plan to get my salary back, but he acted like his hands were completely tied. I had never been so pissed off in my life. So, some of the teachers and I began scheming."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No," Dawn's eyes grow wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry. But I've been pushed around all my life by men higher up on the food chain than me my entire life. You have too. I know you have. The only way to come out on top is to fight dirty."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Listen, I understand wanting to get back at the school board. I do. But you were stealing directly from the students. Not from Johnstone."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's not fair. I do know that, Dawn. But unfortunately, I'm not in a position where I can let that affect me," she says, "the kids will live."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So many of those kids come from struggling homes. They were so crushed that their funds for the field trip to DC were lost," Dawn glances toward Reese, then, slowly, at her restraints. She's distracting Singer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've taught them a valuable lesson that the Smithsonian could not have. to keep your resources close to your chest. You never know who might take it away, after all," Mrs. Singer smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Interesting how everything you say sounds like it was stolen from a cheesy cartoon villain," Dawn scowls.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"Enough of this," Mrs. Singer takes out her gun, "I need you to do a favor for me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not gonna help you," Dawn says, "why would I?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Because I'm going to kill you," Mrs. Singer answers, "for a genius, you're a little slow on the uptake."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's your issue. You're either too cowardly or human or whatever to shoot me and my life is in no real danger, or you're going to shoot me even if I do help you because you can't have me running around knowing what you and the others did," Dawn points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Actually, I was going to frame you for compromising your own system to make it easier for you to get your funds," Mrs. Singer explains, "but I do take your meaning. Perhaps you and I could work out a deal."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're nuts. I'm not going to help you no matter what you promise me," Dawn says. Reese finishes slicing through her restraints.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, that's unfortunate," Mrs. Singer says, "I suppose, then, I'm just going to have to kill you. Ms. Jennings, I really am so sorry that you got caught up in all of this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Funny, I was going to say I owe an apology to you," Reese says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"For..." Mrs. Singer knits her brow, "What, exactly?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This," Reese stands and kicks the chair at Mrs. Singer. It catches her off guard, but the other teachers spring to action. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily for Reese, four teachers and a principal are no match for her combat training. She picks up the chair and breaks it over Mrs. Singer's back. She takes the leg and hits one of the teachers in the stomach with it. She kicks the gun out of Mrs. Singer's hand and picks it up, shooting the kneecaps of everyone else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you alright?" Reese asks, walking towards Dawn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you kidding? I think I'm in love," Dawn says. Reese laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Your security system pick up sound?" Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It sure does," Dawn answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Great. All that's left to do then is call Fusco," Reese takes out her cell phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What the hell is a Fusco?" Dawn asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Rory," Fusco answers, "let me guess. I need to get my ass over there?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're catching on, Lionel," Reese says, and then she smiles.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>In the morning, Reese decides to drop by the school to check on Dawn. She's packing up her classroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey," Dawn says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Moving out?" Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, the school is gonna be shut down for a couple of weeks while Johnstone sorts through all the red tape."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm guessing he's looking for a new principal to fill the office," Reese leans against the doorway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That would be it," Dawn nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Maybe you'll get the gig," Reese says, "you've certainly earned it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I wouldn't take it if I was offered," Dawn explains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why's that?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If I get promoted, I'm probably never going to leave," Dawn shrugs, "the only thing keeping me as a teacher is my kids. At the end of the year, it's over for me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Have you thought about what you're going to do next?" Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think I'm going to take your advice. Start selling my security systems. At a more affordable price than your standard security system," Dawn explains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's great!" Reese beams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think so, too," Dawn smiles, "thanks. For everything."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're welcome," Reese says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can I ask you a question?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure," Reese folds her arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That story about the teacher..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It was true," Reese says, "why?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"In that case, I hope that someday, you start painting again," Dawn says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reese doesn't answer her. She instead turns on her heel and begins walking away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wait," Dawn says. Reese stops, "will I ever see you again?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reese turns to face her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If you're lucky, no."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then she walks away.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Reese arrives at her apartment building and determines that when she gets upstairs, it is finally time to pack. She has just shy of ten hours to do so and get to JFK. But when she gets to her floor, she sees a package slumped against her door. A rather large one, too. No return address. Just a card.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lorelai,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She told me you were looking for these. I don't think your mother was entirely honest with you about throwing them away. You'll never believe where I found them. It's really quite the story, I would love to tell you the next time we get together and chat.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Regards,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Harold.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Reese suppresses a smile and unlocks her door.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>“The expression 'Those who can't do, teach' is a curious one because if you look at the world, you'll see that teachers aren't particularly worse at doing things than anyone else, so perhaps the expression might be better worded as 'nobody can do anything”<br/>-From Lemony Snicket's "Horseradish"</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Your Move</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>"After escaping, Shaw makes her way back to New York where she finds Root who is excited to see her. Shaw fears that she is still in a simulation and tells Root that Root was the only member of the Team she couldn't kill, instead committing suicide each time. Losing her grip on reality, Shaw prepares to kill herself once more, but stops after Root prepares to do the same, proving to her that it's real."<br/>-Notes on Sameen Shaw's character, Person of Interest Wiki</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When they get off the plane, the first thing they do is make their way to the hotel, though Shaw has to be dragged, quite literally, kicking and screaming. And she wants to look for Root, they get that. But they don't know what it is exactly that they're up against. One wrong move could destroy everything that they're working towards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaw stares out the window while Harper unpacks, peculiarly setting her shirts in a stack the way they sat in the suitcase on the shelf of the closet. Maybe the way you unpack if you never know when you might leave again, Shaw reasons. Her suitcase, however, is in the other room of the suite. It's completely untouched, tucked under the bed in case...well, in case of anything, really. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks out the window like she thinks if she focuses, she can see Root somewhere. Maybe it's good that isn't possible. After all, if Shaw could see Root, maybe Root could see her too. There's a sort of tension floating in the air. She feels watched and turns on her heel to face the others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" she asks, folding her arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nothing," Reese averts her gaze and ends up noticing a coffee stain on the nightstand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're usually better at lying than this," Shaw narrows her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you guys want to go get food?" Harper asks, seemingly unaware of Shaw staring daggers at her, "I'm so hungry. And it's been a long time since I've had real Brazilian food."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I could eat," Reese shrugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Maybe we could see if we can find an art gallery," Harper suggests, "you know, I mean afterward."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We are here to find Root," Shaw says, "not to sight-see."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's the big deal?" Harper asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The big deal is that this is work. We're not here to have fun," Shaw is almost scolding her, but not quite. There's a difference. Shaw reiterates to herself that there's a difference. Not that she really cares what Harper thinks of her, but she does, regrettably, need Harper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You don't need to worry about me having fun while you're around," Harper smiles warmly at Shaw, who briefly considers putting a hole through the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"An art gallery might actually be a good idea," Reese chimes in, "for all we know, Root could be working with high-profile criminals."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What does that have to do with anything?" Shaw raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Art thieves," Reese explains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"See, I'm already helping," Harper stands up, "I can ask around while we're out."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why is your assumption that Root is working for or with criminals?" Shaw clearly has no patience for Harper right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Because," Reese says in sort of a duh tone of voice, "she's Root."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Root is one of the good guys now, remember?" If Shaw's emotions were just a little more prominent, her voice might waver as she says this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wasn't saying she wasn't," Reese replies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then what are you saying?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm saying that Root has faked her own death, she hasn't even tried to contact us until all this started happening, and-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You had better make your point. I'm not in a good mood," Shaw interrupts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shouldn't you be in a great mood, though? Given the circumstances, I mean?" Harper asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just because you're right does not mean you're relevant," Shaw says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm saying that Root has always been, you know, I've kind of always looked at her as sort of a flight risk. That maybe she'd get bored of being on our good side," Reese explains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh-huh, so she got bored with us and faked her death," Shaw tries to sound especially unconvinced, "you know, just because she doesn't like you all that much doesn't mean she doesn't care at all."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I didn't say that," Reese sighs, "I just want to make sure, you know, we're going to track her down. But what if she doesn't want to see you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She has a point," Harper agrees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She wants to see me," Shaw snaps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then why did she tell you to stop looking for her?" Reese asks. And there's really not a response to that. Shaw, however, tries to craft one anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If you had the chance to bring Carter back," Shaw says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shaw," Reese warns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If you had the chance to bring Carter back," Shaw repeats, a little louder this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I would do anything," Reese admits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Look, I don't have a lot of people in this world that I can count on to have my back," Shaw continues, "I'm not sure I can count on everyone in this room, even."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fair," Harper says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But you're one of those people. And you know, I try to be that to you, too. And you saved my life once, and you've been doing it a lot since, so it's not like you owe me. And I don't need you to agree with me. I don't need you to think this is a good idea. But I do need you to be with me on this. Just this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room falls silent. Reese looks down, then back at Shaw, then she just closes her eyes. It's a tall ask. But she's Shaw. So as much as Reese tries to pretend there's another option to consider, there isn't. She stands up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm with you," she says. Shaw sort of halfway smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks," she says plainly. There are a lot of words that are left unsaid. Shaw is spectacularly bad at vocalizing these things, and to be frank she exerted a lot of the energy she had on that little speech. So thanks it is. But it's okay. Reese knows. She always does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you two done, because I’m about ready to eat this lamp,” Harper tilts her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess so,” Reese walks over towards her, “Shaw, are you coming?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess I probably should,” Shaw mutters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you not want to, or something?” Harper asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to,” Shaw shakes her head, “I just want to know if you’re really going to be helpful, or if you’re gonna use this thing as an opportunity to see Rio. Were you actually thinking about Root when you suggested an art gallery?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude, chill. I’m focused. What’s the big deal if I want to take in the scenery while we’re here on this most dreadful mission,” Harper exaggerates her tone more and more towards the end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guys,” Reese steps between them, “knock it off. We’re not gonna get anything done if we’re bickering in the hotel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay,” Harper sighs, “Rory has a point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess so,” Shaw agrees. She walks out of the room, “I’ll be outside waiting for you. Don’t drag your feet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaw closes the door behind her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe we shouldn’t bring her on the team,” Harper says, “she used to be so much more...fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Reese raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. She’s moody, but she’s cool. But now…” Harper trails off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s just a little intense right now because of the Root situation. As soon as this is all over, she’ll be back to her normal, quippy self.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what if it’s never over?” Harper asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Reese looks at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clearly, Root doesn’t want to be found. And trust me, I’ve been on the run before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been on the run from </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Reese points out, “you don’t have to tell me. I was there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly,” Harper nods, “the point is, when I’m hiding, I don’t want to be found, and I’m pissed when I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Reese pauses, “If Root doesn’t want to be found, Shaw will at least know. And then we can go home and hopefully move on with our lives. You know. As much as I’m hoping for the opposite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you really think that Shaw could let her go?” Harper asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Reese leans against the wall, ”something happened a few years ago with Shaw. It looked like she died.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we thought that she did. We knew she was gone, at least. And we looked for her. We almost killed ourselves trying. And it wasn’t the first time I had lost a friend. But the machine told us, Root, to stop looking. So,” Reese hesitates, “Root left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She left?” Harper repeats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. And it was hard without her. I think she just needed to be by herself. She needed to process her grief. And when she was done, she came back, and we picked up where we left off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow,” Harper says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But she never gave up hope. Root always thought the machine would bring Shaw back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess she kind of did,” Harper says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Reese agrees, “I think that there’s a lot going on under the surface with those two. They have a pretty complicated history.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They have a pretty complicated </span>
  <em>
    <span>present, </span>
  </em>
  <span>too,</span>
  <em>
    <span>”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Harper points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what I mean. Shaw’s hard to read, but I’ve sort of learned how to keep up with her ticks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After Root died, she only went to her grave once. She said grief wasn’t really her thing. I guess, for her, these things are a lot harder to process. It was almost like she was normal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But she wasn’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harold told me that her grief was different from mine, but it was there and just as real. I think...I haven't really always understood Shaw. But I think that was one of the moments where it clicked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re saying that…” she trails off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m saying that Shaw and Root, we underestimate them,” Reese explains, “and I wasn’t saying before that I think Root isn’t gonna want to come back. I think those two couldn’t stay away from each other for very long if they tried. I just want her to be prepared for the worst.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And in the worst-case scenario, you think she’s going to be fine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope so,” Reese answers, opening the door, “I really hope so.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The machine focuses on a restaurant nearby. Specifically, on a woman sitting by herself in a booth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This woman is one the machine recognizes and knows very well. She wears her hair shorter now than she used to, short curls falling over her face and the nape of her neck shaved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She still wears that black nail polish and leather jacket, though the jacket has needed several patch jobs, having been shot multiple times.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sips a colorful drink through a curly straw that she brought to the restaurant and types on a small laptop that does not belong to her. This laptop will be either returned or thrown away when she is finished using it, whichever she decides is more convenient in the moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks at the camera and smiles. She and the machine have not been on speaking terms for a few days. This is an olive branch, the machine decides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman knows that she’s being watched and followed and there’s really not a thing that she can do about it. She’s mulling over whether or not she’s going to let them catch her. There’s pros and cons to both options, as there often are.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the one hand, if the woman doesn’t allow herself to be caught, there’s always the chance that they’ll keep following her. It’s less of a chance and more of an inevitability, really. But if she does. Well, she hasn’t exactly decided what happens if she does. She’s had ideas, and she used to have something that told her the outcome, but people and more specifically genius AIs that she considers her allies have developed a nasty habit of not listening to her instructions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The machine pretends she doesn’t know exactly which choice the woman is going to make. This is sort of out of necessity to make entertainment for herself. Life can be awfully dull if you know any decision a person might possibly make. There are exceptions to this. Some people do not think before they act. Impulsive people are The Machine’s weakness. But Root is not an impulsive woman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shuts the laptop, places money on the table, and walks out of the restaurant, tossing the laptop in the garbage on her way out. See, Root is very strategic. She very rarely acts without knowing her next hundred or so steps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This, the machine decides, is what makes her so fascinating to watch.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>They’re up all night searching the city. There are a few areas that make sense to look at first, areas near the last hotel Root stayed at. Harper goes in and takes a look, Reese and Shaw generally go in with her, and Shaw attempts to deduce information from the portuguese that she knows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At three am, they come to a place where the clerk does seem to know where Root is, but refuses to talk with Shaw and Reese present and without heavy bribery. Without a word, Harper slides a thousand reais across the counter. The clerk nods, and leads Harper into the back room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where the hell did she get all that money?” Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s better not to ask questions where Harper is concerned,” Reese tells her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for the tip,” Shaw raises an eyebrow and grabs a soda out of the cooler. Reese gives her a strange look, “what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re just going to have a soda you haven’t even purchased yet?” she asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My dad used to snack when we went grocery shopping,” she answers, “cookies rarely made it into the house.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your dad would not have gotten along with my mom,” Reese looks at the snack selection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There goes my plan to set them up,” Shaw says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither of these people are alive anymore,” Reese says matter of factly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, Reese,” she looks up, “I was making a joke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s at this time that Reese’s cell phone rings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Rory, how goes it?” It’s Logan’s voice she hears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Logan,” she greets, “it’s three in the morning. This had better be good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You and I both know you’re not in bed,” he points out, “I need to talk to Shaw. She is proving herself an extremely difficult person to reach.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not like anyone else I know,” Reese says, and hands Shaw the phone. Reese leans next to her to pick up on bits of the conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shaw,” Logan says, “I’ll make it quick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d better,” Shaw says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you remember how I said the laptop was incredibly hard to get into, but that once I was in, it was like everything was unlocked and visible?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remember,” Shaw answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, here’s the thing. We wrote it off at the time as people that heavily secure their technology not counting on getting broken into at the time-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remember,” Shaw repeats, growing impatient.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well. The thing is, the user interface once the computer is unlocked is almost built so that a child could navigate it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you’d think that,” Shaw says, and in a weird way, it’s sort of a compliment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shaw, you’re not listening to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get to the point faster,” Shaw requests.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I restarted it just to check and the weird thing was that the password I used didn’t work. And at first i thought that it was just set to switch after a certain period of time, so I started guessing other passwords based on the content in the computer,” he continues, “and eventually I got it unlocked. I restarted it again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaw wants to say something rude, but nothing comes to her, so she just rolls her eyes in the direction of Reese.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and?” she asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That </span>
  </em>
  <span>password stopped working completely. So, I started guessing again. Lather, rinse, repeat until it clicked,” he pauses, “The computer is set to unlock automatically after exactly four hundred attempts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Shaw furrows her brow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shaw, I didn’t hack into this computer. I was let in,” he explains, “it looks to me like you’re walking into a trap.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaw doesn’t respond. Reese gives her a look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m really quite impressed. If you do manage to find this Root girl, be sure to tell her that,” Logan hangs up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reese and Shaw exchange a series of glances with each other. They’re both waiting for the other one to say something. They can tell that it’s going to be an argument. Finally, Reese breaks the silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t looking good, Shaw,” she says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is good news,” Shaw says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t you hear him? We could be walking straight into a trap,” Reese points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She needs our help,” Shaw says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on. It’s a little too easy, isn’t it?” Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly,” she says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look,” Shaw brushes a lock of her hair behind her ear, “Root doesn’t generally leave a trail. She wants us to find her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or maybe…” Reese trails off, knowing it’s a lost cause.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe what?” Shaw narrows her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe...we don’t know who she’s working with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who she’s working with?” Shaw echoes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe someone has her. She might not be in control of her actions right now. Maybe someone wanted you to find her. And she called you to tell you not to look for her because she knew it was going to be too easy if you tried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That makes zero goddamn sense,” Shaw says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Reese sighs, “I just want to make sure if things go wrong...we need to be sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How?” Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because,” Shaw points at the security camera, “a long time ago, she told you to help me. And even when I didn’t want your help, even when I shot you, even when I abandoned you guys with no way to get back to the city, she made you keep trying to help me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reese doesn’t reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And she told me to help Root. And I don’t care if it’s a trap. Knowing our luck, it probably is. But I’m still gonna go. Because that’s what we do,” she continues, “you know you can’t stop me from doing this. So I’m asking you for the last time to be with me on this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If this goes bad, I’m not gonna promise I won’t be pissed,” Reese says with a small smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Harper says, re-entering the storefront, “we’ve got a lead. An abandoned grocery store near the other side of the city. Let’s bounce.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three head for the door, when the clerk clears his throat. Harper catches sight of Shaw’s soda, glares at her, and pays. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s one other problem,” Reese says as they exit the store.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s that, Rory?” Harper asks, not looking up from her phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are we gonna get a cab this late to get over there?” she asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Harper taps her earpiece, “a little help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s silent for a few minutes. Then she starts walking. Reese and Shaw exchange a look and follow after her. Harper rounds a corner and suddenly stops. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She points at a motorcycle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was stolen from the dealership by a visiting American. What goes around comes around,” she shrugs, “not it to sit in the sidecar, unless one of you knows how to hotwire a motorcycle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reese sits in the sidecar,” Shaw says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m the tallest,” Reese points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not my problem,” Shaw says, climbing on the back, “man, I miss being able to do stuff like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like grand theft auto?” Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like asking the machine to do stuff for me,” Shaw answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, right. You got cut off, huh?” Harper looks at Shaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Shaw admits, “she’s a pain in the ass sometimes, but she’s a necessity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know what you mean. Once you get used to having her around, you use her for everything. Not even mission stuff. I use her for everything from figuring out where to get a good haircut to remembering where I left my HRT,” Harper tosses her a helmet. Evidently, the machine says something funny, because Harper laughs. And then she starts the motorcycle.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“This is the place?” Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like it,” Harper nods, climbing off the motorcycle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re sure you want to do this?” Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Shaw answers without hesitation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Reese stands up. She takes out her gun. Harper and Shaw decide it’s a good idea to do the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They use a crowbar to pry open the front doors, the creak of which is near deafening. It’s dark. Harper pulls out her phone and turns on the flashlight. As quickly as she does so, her phone shocks her. The flashlight goes out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That phone,” she says, disappointed, “was new.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like we hang onto phones for long anyway,” Reese points out, taking her phone out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It does the same as Harper’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn!” Reese says, “this place must have an electro something or other field that disables cell phones.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go on, you clearly know what you’re talking about,” Harper rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does anyone have an actual flashlight?” Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wasn’t counting on needing one,” Harper answers, “T.M, are you still online?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t hear an answer. And then the doors behind them fly shut from force.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like we’re about to star in a horror movie,” Harper says, “we should split up. I’ll be right back. Et cetera.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think we </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> split up,” Reese says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to explain sarcasm. I want you to pay attention,” Harper says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll cover more ground,” Reese points out, “we have our guns if we need them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Harper sighs, “I’ll go to the right, you go to the left. Shaw, straight ahead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever,” Shaw shrugs. She makes her steps as slow and cautious as she possibly can. It doesn’t seem like the best idea to call out for Root, but Shaw listens for any movement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It isn’t long before she hears a dull thud coming from one of the aisles. She hears a groan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reese?” she asks quietly. She begins making her way over to the noise when she hears Harper scream. This time, she runs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stops when the silhouette of a body comes into view. Shaw lifts her arm to checks her pulse. It’s there, but it’s weak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harper?” Shaw gently prods at Harper with her boot. Harper groans in response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is a bad idea, she decides. They need to get out of here. Shaw lifts Harper by the shoulders and begins dragging her away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t even make it out of the aisle before she feels the cool metal of a gun pressed to the back of her head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, sweetie!” A mysterious voice greets cheerfully, “Miss me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something blunt hits Shaw over the head. She loses consciousness before she can form a response. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"Now I've got a feeling<br/>If I sang this loud enough<br/>You would sing it back to me"<br/>-Paramore's "Where the Lines Overlap"</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Crossroads</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>"As Finch prepares to sacrifice himself to allow the Machine to destroy Samaritan, the Machine appears in the form of an image of Root to guide Finch and Reese before it too is destroyed by the ICE-9 virus. Before its destruction, the Machine passes on Root's opinion of Shaw to her, something that affects her greatly, causing the normally emotionless Shaw to shed a tear. Before abandoning the Machine, Shaw finally says goodbye to the Machine and thus Root after her inability to do so before."<br/>-Notes on Root's character, Person of Interest wiki</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time Shaw wakes up, she hears two people talking. Arguing. Shaw’s head is pounding as they speak. Everything feels far away and out of focus.</p><p>“We can’t just leave them here.”</p><p>“I know that.”</p><p>“But we can’t let them go either.”</p><p>“I <em> know. </em>Be patient. She has a plan.”</p><p>“She sure as hell is dragging her feet.”</p><p>“I don’t like it either. This place is giving me the creeps.”</p><p>“So why don’t we just take them out <em> now?” </em></p><p>She recognizes neither of their voices as Root’s. The thought of Root snaps her, at least comparatively, into focus. She groans, attempting to move.</p><p>“Hey, that one’s awake!”</p><p>“I can see that.”</p><p>“You must have not hit her hard enough.”</p><p>“I hit her plenty hard, thanks. I just think she might need a little help.”</p><p>The last thing that Shaw feels before she loses consciousness again is the sensation of a needle entering her arm. </p><p>She fades in and out for a few hours. Tries to process as best she can the information that’s being conveyed between them.</p><p>“It doesn’t matter how we kill them. Just as long as we do.”</p><p>“But why <em> this way </em> is really more my question.”</p><p>“This is the most efficient. It doesn’t seem like it, but it is. This way we take care of the evidence we were here. And all possible remains.”</p><p>“Ain’t they gonna be suspicious of a crater where a grocery store was?”</p><p>“It’ll be a small explosion.”</p><p>“That’s my least favorite kind.”</p><p>“Well. It’s what we’re going with. Get back to work.”</p><p>It’s this voice that she recognizes as Root’s before she passes back out. </p><p>“I need you guys to get out of here,” Root says, “I’ll finish up around here.”</p><p>“That doesn’t seem like a very smart choice.”</p><p>“You know what else isn’t a smart choice? Talking back to me while I have a loaded gun. Get the money back to HQ now, before I add the both of you to the body count.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“Yeah, whatever you say.”</p><p>The sound of footsteps. Then the door closing. Shaw’s eyelids are too heavy to lift. She opens her mouth, but she fails to release any sound. She tries again. And again.</p><p>“Root,” she finally manages to whisper. </p><p>“You’re awake!” Root places a hand on Shaw’s cheek, “I am so sorry. I told him not to up the dosage.”</p><p>“Root,” Shaw weakly repeats, the corners of her lips turning up. She coughs.</p><p>“I need to get you the antidote,” Root says, taking her hand away. Shaw misses the touch. Her face is so cold.</p><p>Root is gone for what seems like an eternity but what is likely a matter of moments. Shaw feels something cold and wet press against her neck, and then another needle.</p><p>She hasn’t noticed how slow her heart was beating until it jolts to a speed that is likely normal, but makes Shaw feel like it’s racing nonetheless.</p><p>“Your mobility should return to normal in a few minutes,” Root adds, entirely unhelpful to someone who currently has no concept of time.</p><p>“I thought you were dead,” Shaw says, her voice hoarse like it’s the first time she’s used it in weeks. Her vision blurs to focus now. Root kneels down and locks eyes with her again. </p><p>“Well, when I was shot, I admit that I thought I was going to die. But there were other plans for me,” Root explains.</p><p>“You look different,” Shaw says.</p><p>“So do you,” Root replies.</p><p>“I like the hair,” Shaw adds. Root smiles.</p><p>“Thanks,” Root says.</p><p>“Why did you attack us?” Shaw asks.</p><p>“I’m working for the bad guys now,” Root answers, “just until I can get something else figured out.”</p><p>“I think I’m gonna hurl,” Shaw groans.</p><p>“That’s normal. Tell me if you need a bucket,” Root says.</p><p>“Who are you working with?”</p><p>“I kind of liked it better when you weren’t asking so many questions,” Root looks like she’s going to cry, “I’m so so sorry. About all of this.”</p><p>“Hey, it’s okay,” Shaw assures her, “I’ve spent my Friday nights in worse ways.”</p><p>“I told you not to come after me, dummy,” Root’s voice trembles slightly as she speaks.</p><p>“Since when do I follow directions?” Shaw points out.</p><p>“I’ve missed you,” Root takes Shaw’s hand, “so much.”</p><p>“Don’t get sappy on me,” Shaw says, though something in her feels like it’s going to detonate. </p><p>“I need to get you out of here,” Root adds.</p><p>“I’m the one getting <em> you </em> out of here,” Shaw protests, “I know you haven’t taken part in that many rescue missions, at least, not ones where you were the one being rescued, but this is how it works.”</p><p>“You’re not rescuing me, Shaw,” Root corrects.</p><p>“I’m not leaving here without you,” Shaw’s voice is more firm now. She can feel her eye twitching.</p><p>“I sincerely hope that’s up for negotiation,” Root stands up again.</p><p>“So, what is this place, exactly?” Shaw asks.</p><p>“A grocery store,” Root answers plainly.</p><p>“You know what I mean. What are you using it for?”</p><p>“It’s adorable that you think I’m gonna give you any information on what’s going on here,” Root begins walking towards one of the defunct checkout counters.</p><p>“Hey, it’s worth a shot,” Shaw attempts a shrug and fails.</p><p>“Are you hungry?” Root asks, “my friends back there brought me food because they knew I was gonna be here all night.”</p><p>“They must be the nicest henchmen,” Shaw rolls her eyes, “did you miss the part where I said I thought I was going to throw up?”</p><p>“The Shaw I know never turns down food,” Root says, waving a burger in her face.</p><p>“I’m good,” Shaw snaps, “and you still owe me an explanation on, I dunno, literally any of this.”</p><p>“You can pick one,” Root says.</p><p>“One?” Shaw repeats.</p><p>“One question,” Root elaborates, “and it can’t be one you’ve already tried to ask. Like what I’m doing here.”</p><p>“That’s ridiculous,” Shaw says.</p><p>“Well, those are my terms,” Root says.</p><p>“How are you alive?” Shaw asks without hesitation.</p><p>“That’s a tough one,” Root says.</p><p>“Dealer’s choice,” Shaw is barely moving. This, somehow, feels like an improvement.</p><p>“Fine,” Root sighs, “I faked my own death.”</p><p>“I swear to god, Root,” Shaw would be tempted to throttle Root if right now she was physically able.</p><p>“What?” Root asks.</p><p>"I might have fucking figured that out for myself, thanks," Shaw mutters.</p><p>"I suppose you were more asking how, exactly, I performed this impossible feat," Root guesses.</p><p>"Bingo," Shaw says.</p><p>"I would love to explain it all to you. But first, we need to get rid of these two," Root points in the direction of Harper and Reese.</p><p>"Why?" Shaw raises an eyebrow.</p><p>"Well, tell you the truth, I'm not sure about you going on this mission either. It's very high stakes. I don't know what I'd do with myself if something happened to you," Root explains, "but She is very stubborn. She can't be talked out of things."</p><p>Shaw bites back a rude remark about how Root's way of persuasion often involves kidnapping. Instead, she nods.</p><p>"She seems to think that I need your help," Root continues.</p><p>"And you don't think so?" Shaw asks.</p><p>"I think she's not as much trying to save my life as she is trying to play matchmaker," Root shrugs, "I know this isn't the first time she's done that."</p><p>"There's a flaw with that theory," Shaw points out, "the fact that she waited until now to do this."</p><p>"I didn't consider that," Root furrows her brow, "well, in any case, she refuses to help me unless I take you with. And I can't very well complete my mission without a little bit of help. So, we're taking them back to the hotel. And then you and I? We're going on a little field trip."</p><p>"What kind of field trip?" Shaw is regaining strength in her limbs. She squirms a bit. The rope is too tight. It threatens to cut off her blood flow if she attempts to move much more.</p><p>Root doesn't answer her question.</p><p>"Root, you're gonna have to tell me something," Shaw says, "I don't care what it is. But you faked your death, you run when I try to look for you...and now you want my help. No questions asked? Do I look stupid to you?" </p><p>"Of course you don't look stupid," Root sighs, "I just...can't tell you much about what it is I'm doing."</p><p>"Be vague," Shaw instructs.</p><p>"Fine," Root folds her arms, "my friends and I work for these people. Very powerful people. I'm not going to tell you who they are for very obvious reasons. But there are these other people, and they don't like what my people are doing. They won't trade with us. And there's something we need from them."</p><p>"You want me to help you steal something?" Shaw hates the way she sounds like Finch right now.</p><p>"I would never ask you to do that," Root lies flagrantly, or maybe she isn't lying, she's just conveniently forgotten the entire history of their relationship. For whatever reason, Shaw chooses not to call her on this.</p><p>"Then what are you asking me to do?" is what she says instead.</p><p>"I need you to cover me while I steal it," Root corrects.</p><p>"Right, sure. That's way different, I'm perfectly fine with this now," Shaw doesn't have the energy to make her sarcasm as known as she would like. Root can tell regardless.</p><p>"Is that a no?" Root asks, "Because believe me, I'm about as enthused about this as you are. If you want to be returned to the hotel with them, by all means."</p><p>Her words hang in the air for a moment. Her proposal echos off the walls in the distance. Shaw isn't sure how she can hear that over all of the ringing in her ears.</p><p>"Damn it, Root," Shaw mutters.</p><p>"We're running short on time, if you can't find it in you to recall," Root reminds her.</p><p>"I'll help you," Shaw finally says, "but I expect an answer to my question."</p><p>"I'll tell you on the way," Root offers.</p><p>"And I swear to God, if you don't untie me-"</p><p>"Right. Sorry," Root pulls a knife out from her boot.</p><p>"You carry two guns. What the hell do you need a knife for?" Shaw asks.</p><p>"I need a knife," Root answers, slowly, "because if I run out of bullets in both of my guns, I probably could use a backup plan."</p><p>"You have a backup plan," Shaw points out, impatiently.</p><p>"I suppose that's true," Root agrees, "but the knife is more theatric."</p><p>"Are you telling me you carry a knife because you like being dramatic?" Shaw is starting to get a little pissed off.</p><p>"That's what I'm saying," Root nods.</p><p>It's quiet as Root saws the rope off of Shaw. It's not military grade, Shaw notices, not quite. But it is very close. She focuses her attention on Root's face. Root is looking down. She's changed since Shaw last saw her, more than she could realize at first glance. Shaw is glad Root isn't looking at her.</p><p>Root has broken her nose at some point since Shaw last saw her. One could hardly tell if they weren't very familiar with broken bones, which Shaw is. There's a faint scar that runs across the bridge where it had to be set. There's a bruise on Root's forehead that doesn't look fresh. She must have been hit very hard at one point, possibly with a hammer. She has a black eye, which, in contrast to the other scars and bruises, does look like it happened recently.</p><p>The ropes fall to the floor. Shaw attempts to stand, her legs shaking from being in the same position for god knows how long.</p><p>"Let's go," Root says. Shaw nods. They drag Harper and Reese's limp, unconscious bodies to a getaway car behind the store.</p><p>"You still owe me an explanation as to how you're fucking alive," Shaw says as Root begins driving away.</p><p>"Right," Root clears her throat, "well, I was shot if you recall."</p><p>"I remember," Shaw sees no need to make a rude remark about Root's coy phrasing. She knows Root is alive and in front of her. She doesn't know why she keeps thinking about being at Root's grave nevertheless. She doesn't know why since she's alive, she keeps thinking about her last words to her before.</p><p>"Wait, I forgot to do one thing," Root takes out her phone, presses a button. Shaw hears a loud crash from a distance, "anyway, I thought I was going to die. But these people came in my room. They offered me an ultimatum. They could use their expensive resources on me, save my life. But in turn, my life belongs to them now."</p><p>"But the body," Shaw says, ignoring the rising bile in her throat.</p><p>"A fake," Root explains, "you wouldn't believe the kind of technology these people have."</p><p>"Right, so, you belong to them," Shaw gestures as if to tell Root to go on, "going along with that and not staging an escape doesn't sound very Root."</p><p>"You know, I thought that too," Root says, "but as it was explained to me, they implanted a device."</p><p>"A device?" Shaw repeats.</p><p>"It administers a shock if I step out of range of wherever I'm supposed to be," Root explains, "they didn't warn me at first. They wanted me to experience first hand how bad it was so I didn't attempt to escape in the future."</p><p>"Like a dog?" Shaw asks.</p><p>"Yes," Root glances over to her, "like a dog."</p><p>"Maybe She could figure out a way for you to cut the implant out," Shaw suggests.</p><p>"It's not safe," Root says, "I tried it myself. But it's located very close to an extremely vital part of my body."</p><p>Root looks down at her thigh.</p><p>"If I sever the artery by mistake, I'll bleed to death," she explains, "and I've been told the shocks get more intense. And believe me. The last time they did it, I tasted metal for eight days. I am not particularly willing to put the theory to the test."</p><p>"Okay," Shaw sighs, "so we need to figure out how to get you out of this."</p><p>"No, Shaw," Root protests, "there's people who can kill me with the push of a button."</p><p>"Well, let's find the button and destroy it, shall we?" Shaw's leg is thumping so hard she should be worried about breaking it.</p><p>"Sweetie," Root smiles, "I'm not going to talk to you about this. Not here, not now."</p><p>"I don't suppose there are gonna be a lot of opportunities to talk about this later on," Shaw points out.</p><p>"You're probably right," Root agrees, "So let's pencil this conversation in for exactly never."</p><p>"Root..."</p><p>"Look, after this is all over I can ship you back off to New York and you can have Her back if you just promise not to-"</p><p>"I didn't come to Brazil for the robot," Shaw snaps.</p><p>"She's not a robot," Root says, but it misses its usual punch. </p><p>They spend the rest of the car ride in near-complete silence.</p><p>When they reach the hotel room, Root injects them with something.</p><p>"What the hell are you doing?" Shaw asks.</p><p>"I don't want them coming after us. Thirty-six hours is how long it will take for them to wake back up. By then I won't be in Brazil anymore," Root explains.</p><p>"Tell me where you're going. I promise not to write it down," Shaw says, "I've got a very poor memory."</p><p>Root cracks a smile. Shaw is joking. It breaks up some of the tension. Not a lot of it. Not anywhere resembling enough, but some. And Root will take some.</p><p>"We have to move quickly, though. My boss is not a patient woman," Root gestures at the door.</p><p>"At least now I know she's a she," Shaw mutters, following after her.</p><hr/><p>"Out of curiosity," Shaw says as they climb out of the car, "how many people are you gonna be shooting while we're here?" </p><p>"I won't be shooting many people at all," Root answers, "that's your job, remember? Watching my back and all while I retrieve the package."</p><p>"Okay, rephrasing," Shaw pinches the bridge of her nose, "how many people am I going to have to shoot while we're here?"</p><p>"Well, that depends," Root watches the guards move around the building, "if we're as fast as humanly possible, don't get noticed at all, and escape unseen, you'll have to shoot exactly zero people."</p><p>"And if we're not as fast as humanly possible?" Shaw asks, "just give me a ballpark."</p><p>"There are nearly a thousand people here at any given time," she states plainly, "our odds of even getting in there without having to shoot someone standing guard are incredibly low."</p><p>"Great," Shaw mutters, "just what I needed. Tell me these are bad guys too. You know, and they don't get along with the other bad guys so great."</p><p>"It depends on how you look at the situation," Root keeps her voice low.</p><p>"How would you look at the situation?" Shaw asks, her eyebrow raised.</p><p>"I look at the situation like this is a job that I need to do, and like these are people standing in the way of that," Root's answer is almost robotic.</p><p>"I'm gonna look at it that way too," Shaw eyes the entrance of the building, "you know, for my own peace of mind."</p><p>Root doesn't answer her. She watches the people move around the building slowly and methodically. She's planning something. Root begins creeping around the building. Shaw follows.</p><p>There are guards on the backside of the building too. But Root is prepared. She takes out what appears to be a bath bomb.</p><p>"Soaking all your troubles away, Root?" Shaw asks.</p><p>"Quiet," Root says. You know you really need to shut up if Root is telling you to be quiet. So Shaw does. Root, well, roots through her backpack in search of something else. She finally pulls out a matchbook, promptly using it to light the deadly bath bomb aflame. She tosses it towards the guards and it fizzles out in front of their feet.</p><p>"Oh, nice work," Shaw takes out her gun. Root puts a hand on her wrist.</p><p>"Keep your shirt on, Sameen," Root tells her.</p><p>The guards stare at the, well, whatever it is on the ground. Suddenly, the thing splits open. Shaw doesn't know exactly what the thing does, and to be perfectly honest she finds that preferable to knowing exactly what it is. Nevertheless, the guards slump to the floor. </p><p>Root begins moving, motioning for Shaw to follow after her.</p><p>"I timed it perfectly. The guards are supposed to rotate every twenty minutes," Root explains, "that leaves us with nineteen."</p><p>"Oh, good, I was worried we would be working under a time crunch," Shaw steps over the guard. She pretends not to be concerned that these men are dead.</p><p>"This way," Root says, walking through the hallway. She spots a security camera and says, "a little help?"</p><p>The security camera stops blinking at them, but it doesn't turn off.</p><p>"Thanks, love," Root says with a warm smile.</p><p>"What exactly did she just do?" Shaw asks.</p><p>"She's going to repeat the feed from the last hour to the security camera with an updated time code," Root explains, "you know, before we got here and everything. Come on."</p><p>"So, what is this place exactly?" Shaw asks. She's unusually talkative. She would blame it on nerves if she was the type to worry. The overtalking seems to be, annoyingly enough, without a source. This greatly hinders Shaw's ability to stifle it. This is hardly the time or the place.</p><p>"You know I can't tell you that," Root says, turning a corner.</p><p>"Well, it's not like you're gonna be coming back here," Shaw points out, "and it's not like not telling me where we are right now prevents me from remembering this place if you did."</p><p>"If you think that makes even half the difference to me, you're wrong," Root glances at Shaw, "I don't want you getting wrapped up in all of this. The less you know the better."</p><p>"Well, just because you don't want me to," Shaw sticks her hands in her hoodie pockets. It's at this point she notices there's quite a bit of dry blood on her sleeve. She feels around for a cut. But there doesn't seem to be one.</p><p>"What?" Root asks, noticing her stall in movement.</p><p>"Is this..." Shaw pauses, "is this somebody else's blood?"</p><p>"Yes," Root doesn't miss a single beat.</p><p>"What."</p><p>"It's mine, actually," she continues.</p><p>"What." Shaw repeats, louder.</p><p>"You were being tortured for information," Root says.</p><p>"I don't remember that," Shaw says.</p><p>"Well, of course not, you were unconscious," Root points out, "well, at some point, I needed to wake you up and torture you for information, find out who you were. I had to make it look convincing."</p><p>"This was my favorite hoodie," Shaw says, alarmingly calm about the fact that she is wearing large quantities of Root's blood.</p><p>"You'll get over it," Root says, not looking down at her, "I'd buy you a new one for your trouble, but that would leave a paper trail. And as we've already established, any tiny slipup and you guys find me."</p><p>"You let us find you," Shaw points out.</p><p>"That's a very generous use of the word let," Root says, "considering I absolutely did not let you find me. I can't even believe you got into my computer without Finch's help."</p><p>"Pierce," Shaw shrugs, "you left a trail."</p><p>"I suppose I did," Root agrees.</p><p>"Did you leave it on purpose?" Shaw asks.</p><p>"There's gonna be two people up ahead. Don't shoot them unless you want to kill them. I don't think that's something you want to do, is it?" Root tilts her head in the direction of the doors before them.</p><p>"You told me that ideally, I don't shoot anyone," Shaw says.</p><p>"I did say that," Root nods, "it's true whether or not it makes my life easier or harder. I don't want unnecessary deaths. In spite of my track records, I don't enjoy watching people die."</p><p>"Okay. So don't shoot them. Got it," Shaw grips the handle of her gun nonetheless.</p><p>"I didn't say don't shoot them."</p><p>"Well, what the hell are you saying?" Shaw huffs.</p><p>"I'm saying don't shoot them without my command," Root points through the window at them, "see?"</p><p>"They're not armed," Shaw observes.</p><p>"No, not with guns," Root says, "They do, however, have communication devices."</p><p>"How do we get rid of them?" Shaw asks.</p><p>"Your phones broke when you walked into that abandoned grocery store," Root says.</p><p>"I was wondering about that," it feels like that happened a decade ago. It occurs to Shaw that she's not sure of how long ago that actually did happen. </p><p>"This," Root takes out what appears to be a garage door opener, but that surely can't be right, "is a very powerful device that will send any piece of technology within fifty feet of us into overdrive."</p><p>Shaw stares at it for a long time before speaking again.</p><p>"But what about Her?" Shaw asks.</p><p>"She, being inside of my head and therefore within range, will short out temporarily. The device in my ear is a little more powerful than your average cell phone, so the effects are less damaging. It's also better than if I wore her on, say, my wrist," Root explains.</p><p>"So, you're going into this one blind?" Shaw asks.</p><p>"That's about it," Root looks at the device.</p><p>"That doesn't seem like the best idea," Shaw locks eyes with Root.</p><p>"I've done it before," Root assures her, "this mission is pretty routine. Plus, I have you here."</p><p>"Does it hurt?" Shaw asks.</p><p>"A little," Root admits, "it sort of shocks me. Which is also why I can't carry any guns or knives on me. Anything I come in contact with could fry me."</p><p>"Okay. So you plan on getting the thing out of the other thing how exactly?" Shaw asks.</p><p>"The thing out of the thing?" Root echoes.</p><p>"I'll remind you that I don't know what the fuck is going on. Sorry if I'm not speaking eloquently enough for you," Shaw grits her teeth.</p><p>"Oh!" Root pulls a pointer from a classroom and a small, dollar store grabber claw.</p><p>"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," Shaw drags a hand down her face.</p><p>Root tears a strip of fabric off of her shirt and bites down into it before hitting the button. Shaw can hear Root groan loudly, muffled by the cloth so it is. She pushes through the door.</p><p>The two people notice them instantly. One takes out their communications device only to be shocked by it and drop it reflexively on the floor. Root grabs their shoulders and knocks the two of their heads together. It probably won't even bruise, but it knocks them out.</p><p>Repeat and recycle the whole process a few more times until finally, they reach one room. There's a pin pad on the door. Root rolls up her sleeve and stares at the writing. True to her theory, the pointer works absolutely fine. The image of the pin pad being operated using something with a very small mickey mouse glove on the end of it is one that Shaw is determined to commit to memory. </p><p>"Mechanical pin pad," Root scoffs, opening the door. Shaw wonders if she really is needed here. Maybe Root was right before about their friend trying to set them up.</p><p>There's a man sitting in the chair in the room. He swivels around to face them, looking absolutely terrified as he does. There's a moment of sobriety in Root realizing this man can't be older than maybe twenty-five. She really hopes she doesn't have to kill him.</p><p>"Alright. I've shorted out your comm devices, and most of the technology in this room. You don't have a fighting chance of getting help before we're done here. So if you cooperate, we won't hurt you," Root explains to him. He seems very willing to receive this information. He moves out of the way. Shaw stands behind Root next to the poor kid as she uses her children's toys to open a panel in the wall. </p><p>Root uses the grabber claw to grip the handle on what seems to be a briefcase but is very unlikely to actually include any sort of paperwork. </p><p>Shaw barely catches him, out of the corner of her eye, pulling a gun from under the desk. She doesn't even hesitate before kicking it out of his hand and pressing her own gun to the meat of his neck.</p><p>"Don't shoot him," Root commands.</p><p>"He was trying to kill you!" Shaw protests.</p><p>"Yes, and I'm fine," Root points out, "we can't kill our ticket out of here."</p><p>Shaw considers this. She does not take the gun away from the young man's neck, but she doesn't fire it, either.</p><p>"He's just doing his job. It's not even particularly his fault he's here," Root adds.</p><p>"Try that again," Shaw says, "I fucking dare you."</p><p>"Let's move," Root says, walking towards the door.</p><p>Shaw follows her, one hand still holding her gun and the other gripping the boy's arm. Several employees stand behind it, preparing to kill Root. Nobody fires, however, because they can see Shaw posing a very real threat to this man.</p><p>"Are you a son of the CEO or something?" Shaw asks.</p><p>"Grand-nephew," he corrects, shakily.</p><p>"Lucky break," Root observes as they move past the employees. They make it back to the door they entered from. Shaw pushes him forward, slamming the door.</p><p>They barely make it to the car before the guards start firing at them.</p><hr/><p>They abandon the car near a subway station. They don't speak again until they board the train, nearly empty as late at night as it is.</p><p>"I suppose I owe you thanks," Root says soon after the train begins moving.</p><p>“Don’t thank me,” Shaw instructs, “I’d prefer not to think about what I just did. I mean, if your boss is putting chips in <em> employees </em> legs to electrocute them, whatever that is probably isn’t good.”</p><p>Shaw stares at the briefcase.</p><p>“You knew I was working for bad people,” Root looks down, “but you helped me anyway.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Shaw says.</p><p>They decide for now that listening to the rumble of the train is better than speaking. They stare out the window despite the lack of a view. Root reaches for Shaw’s hand. Shaw lets her take it.</p><p>“Do you think you’re gonna tell the others?” Root asks, “About what happened, I mean.”</p><p>“No,” Shaw replies.</p><p>“Good,” Root says.</p><p>Shaw hesitates before speaking again.</p><p>“I’m gonna figure a way to get you out of this,” Shaw tells her.</p><p>“Shaw,” Root lets go of her hand, “I don’t want you chasing after me.”</p><p>“I know,” Shaw says, “but I’m gonna anyway.”</p><p>“Sameen,” Root looks at her, “we’re talking about dangerous, powerful people. People who can kill me in about a hundred different ways if I step out of line.”</p><p>“They didn’t put a chip in my leg, though,” Shaw points out.</p><p>“You’re not listening to me. These people will kill you if they’re given the chance.”</p><p>“So I won’t give them the chance,” Shaw shrugs.</p><p>“It’s not that easy.”</p><p>“Why not?” Shaw turns to face her.</p><p>“Bad things will happen to you,” Root answers.</p><p>“Bad things happen to me all the time,” Shaw retorts.</p><p>“This is different,” Root says.</p><p>“Why is it different?” </p><p>“Shaw,” Root closes her eyes.</p><p>“No, why is it different? You and I used to do dangerous stuff together all the time,” Shaw reasons, “it was kind of our thing.”</p><p>“It just is.”</p><p>“Root-”</p><p>“I thought you were dead once!” Root shouts.</p><p>“Yeah, I seem to remember thinking you were dead a few weeks ago.”</p><p>“It destroyed me,” Root’s voice wavers, “you’re right. Bad things do happen to you all the time. But they’re not gonna be because of me.”</p><p>“Who says you get a say in who I stick my neck out for?” Shaw demands. The door slides open. The passengers seem ready and willing to get away from these crazy ladies.</p><p>“I’m not gonna argue with you.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>“You’re going back to New York,” she continues, “and you’re going to forget everything that’s happened in the last few weeks. You’re gonna pretend that you never found out I was alive.”</p><p>“What? No, Root-”</p><p>Root pushes Shaw out of the subway car. Shaw barely catches herself. She steadies, then turns on her heel to face Root again.</p><p>“It’s not going to be easy for you. I know that.”</p><p>“I’m not gonna forget you’re out there, Root,” Shaw argues, “I’m gonna find you again. I’m gonna bring you home.”</p><p>Root smiles. There are tears rolling down her cheek.</p><p>“They don’t write happy endings for girls like us, my love.”</p><p>The door shuts. Root puts her hand on the window as the train begins moving again. Shaw moves with it, running after it as if she thinks if she could just get to the door, she could do something. Shaw watches as the train gets away, as Root gets away.</p><p>A phone is ringing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>But you're in your house, and I'm in another house<br/>God, I wish I had never let you go<br/>Smell the jasmine<br/>And remember to forget me<br/>-From Mashrou' Leila's "Shim El Yasmine"</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Nodus Tollens</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Nodus Tollens<br/>n. the realization that the plot of your life doesn’t make sense to you anymore—that although you thought you were following the arc of the story, you keep finding yourself immersed in passages you don’t understand, that don’t even seem to belong in the same genre—which requires you to go back and reread the chapters you had originally skimmed to get to the good parts, only to learn that all along you were supposed to choose your own adventure.</p><p>-Brianna Wiest for Thought Catalog</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The phone is ringing. And someone has to answer it. There's nobody else in the train station, and even if there was, she knows the phone call is for her. She shakes off whatever remnants of what just happened and approaches the phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hello, Shaw," a familiar voice says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Finch?" Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not really," it answers, "I figured you didn't want to hear her voice right now. So, I figured Harold was a good substitute."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Figures," Shaw resists the impulse to rest her tired head on the wall of the station.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I wanted to update you on your friends," she continues, "Your friends are currently safely at the hotel. I told them you were safe and to wait until your return there."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did they listen?" Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Absolutely not," The Machine replies, "but most hotels nowadays have electric locks, so..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Cool. Anything else?" Shaw's patience for her wears thin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, yes," The Machine hesitates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you going to tell me what it is?" Shaw raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I do have a number," she finally says, "here in Brazil."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Where can I find them?" Shaw reaches in her pocket for her beat-up notepad. It has been stolen. She swears under her breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shaw?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I was actually considering sending Lorelai and Harper on this one," she explains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What, without me?" Shaw furrows her brow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's not like I don't trust you to keep your cool," she continues, "I just think it would suit you well to take a little break to process everything that's happened to you over the last few days."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"First, you're giving me cryptic hints to help Root. Every command she gives you, you work around it. Then however long of radio silence, and now you want me to pack up and go home? Was this another message from Root? She wants me bedridden crying over this watching shitty romcoms and-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Breathe," The Machine instructs, "first of all, no, she does not want you to go home and rest. Or, I can't imagine her objecting to it, but this was my idea. Second of all,  she did give me back my permission to speak to you directly. As long as I don't give you hints."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, that's it? You wanted me to find her that badly that you went around her and sent me morse code, but now, it's over?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's not like that, Sameen, you know it's not," Finch's voice crackles with more robotic sounds. Something's wrong. Shaw drops what she was pursuing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's wrong with your voice?" Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nothing," The Machine lies, it crackles with static.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's something wrong," Shaw insists, "your voice is all mangled up. The last time that happened was when..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shaw, it's nothing."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're breaking down, aren't you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I have it under control," her voice is picking up signals from a local futbol game.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Putting her own life in danger to protect me is one thing. I don't like it, but it's classic Root. But you're in danger too, and I can't help thinking Root has something to do with it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sameen, it isn't like that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So tell me what it's like," Shaw demands, "I'm so sick of people, people who need help, lying to me to save my skin. I can protect myself."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're a smart girl," her voice returns to normal, almost as if nothing had happened, "I don't regret helping you find her. You needed to know that she was alive. But I shouldn't help you. If I know you at all, you'll figure it out on your own."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Great," Shaw sighs, "that's just great."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sameen, would you promise me something, before I tell you about the number?" she asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If it comes down between the two of us," she says, slowly, "by which I mean Root and me, I want you to save her."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wait, what does that mean?" Shaw is not quite shouting now, but her volume rises with each individual word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My source code has a few copies. One with Harold, one somewhere that I can't say. I remain adamant on my stance that I can be copied, people cannot," she continues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why would it come down between the two of you? For the love of God, just-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know that I can count on you to do that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shirl-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Your new number is a man by the name of Gael Alves. He runs a music store in Rio. Good luck," and just like that, the line goes dead. Shaw is tempted to rip the phone out of the wall. Objectively these are higher stakes, knowing that The Machine is in danger too. Shaw can only muster little concern in comparison to her frustration and anger, however. What in the shit is wrong with these people?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Root clearly doesn't want to be found, though, and The Machine is no help. She might as well go  solve this number. Might help her blow off some steam, at the very least.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>When she opens the door to the hotel room, she is not at all surprised to find Lorelai hanging one foot out of the window with an armful of rope. She's even less surprised to find Harper sitting in a chair reading Brazilian magazines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey," Reese, a little startled to see her, struggles to balance herself on the windowsill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We're free!" Harper stands up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you okay?" Reese asks, "What happened?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't really feel like rehashing the messy details, Reese," Shaw answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We flew to Brazil. We used Logan's money to fly to Brazil," Harper points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So?" Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, we wanna hear at least how this shook out," Harper says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why does it matter?" Shaw scoffs, "Clearly she's not with me, so shit didn't go as planned. Anyway, we have a new number-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What happened?" Reese repeats, a little firmer this time. Shaw exhales in such a way it sort of sounds like she's hissing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fine," she finally says, "she woke up after getting shot with everything that needed to be fixed, transplanted, whatever, all of that was done. She woke up working for this organization, apparently. And she needed my help recovering something she needs for work. She told me to stop trying to find her and stop contacting her, and that was it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That was it?" Reese echoes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You want it in picture book format or something?" Shaw glares at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you..." Reese hesitates, "I mean, you're not okay. Obviously not."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What is that supposed to mean?" Shaw folds her arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just that," Lorelai clears her throat, "nothing. Never mind. I just wanted to make sure that you were going to be okay."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll be fine, Reese," she shrugs, "right now, I just want to get back to work."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Back to work?" Harper laughs, "you're not serious, are you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The Machine," she presses on, unwilling to acknowledge either one of them, "gave me a number. His name is Gael Alves. He runs a music store. I asked around on my way back. Apparently, his daughter, a nineteen-year-old girl, went missing last year."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shaw," Reese presses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I got the address to his music store, that's something. And I think that our best bet is pretending to be private investigators. Apparently, he hired a whole slew of them when his daughter first went missing and they came back with zip. Cops were no help either which is entirely fucking unsurprising. But I got the case file with help from Fusco. I don't know how he does that and he can't make it through the day without spilling coffee on his tie."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper and Reese exchange a look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nothing," Reese shakes her head, "we can go."</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The music store itself is fairly small. There's only one person working there when they walk in, tinkering with the strings on a guitar. He smiles at them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Olá, hi," he greets, putting the guitar on the counter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hello," Shaw recognizes him immediately as Gael Alves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Welcome to my music store! Is there anything you were looking for today?" he pushes his reading glasses up his nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Actually," Reese interjects, "we were looking for you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Me?" he asks, "Are you from some kind of American charity, or perhaps you would like to sell me something?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We're private investigators, actually," Reese answers, "we're here to ask you a few questions about your daughter."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My daughter?" he furrows his brow, "I'm sorry, I don't recall hiring more private investigators. Or did you replace the old ones? Either way, I'm not positive what I could pay you, but I'm sure we could put together a payment plan. I don't have much, but anything for my Mia."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That won't be necessary," Reese says, "no payment needed. We're not that kind of organization, sir."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr. Alves looks surprised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course, as the Americans say, what is it? You shouldn't make eye contact with a gift? But I'm afraid I don't understand."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We work for an organization that helps working-class people solve cold cases for the simple satisfaction of not having another folder to add to the landfill of unsolved cases," Shaw explains, a little more churlish than she needs to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I see," he smiles softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mr Alves-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Please, my friends call me Gael," he interrupts, "what may I call you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My name is Lorelai Cain," she shakes his hand, "this is agent Sameen Thomas and agent Harper Washington."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's very good to meet you all," he says, "please, show yourselves up to my apartment, just up that staircase there. I will close up shop for the afternoon."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reese nods and does as she is instructed. The apartment, like the music store, doesn't have a lot in terms of size. There is a bird in a large cage in the corner, and about a million photographs adorning the walls of who they can only assume is Mia. Gael reaches the living room with great speed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"May I offer you anything to eat?" he asks, "To drink?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Coffee, if you have it," Harper says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm fine, thank you," Reese chimes in. Shaw stays silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll put on a pot now," he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's a pretty bird," Reese says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you very much," Gael smiles, "she belongs to my daughter."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What kind is she?" Reese crouches down to examine her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She's a sun conure," Gael answers, "her name is Mango."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did we come here to ask questions about the bird?" Shaw asks, "We're sorry to waste your time."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not at all. I'm happy to have all of you here," Gael starts his coffee machine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Even still," Shaw continues, "what can you tell us about your daughter? We have the case file, but we could use the refresher."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course," his smile dissipates. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sits at the table and motions for the others to follow suit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My Mia had just turned nineteen when she went missing. It was October eleventh, the last day that I saw my daughter. She had been acting strangely for some time, coming home late, leaving early in the morning. She was always asking to cut back her shifts here, which I was happy to do for her," Gael explains. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He goes silent for a minute. Almost as if leaving a space for his own regret for not noticing something was more than just a little bit off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She went back to normal after a few weeks of that. She seemed happier than she had, but more on edge. Like she was glancing over her shoulder. She does all of the grocery shopping because I have a little trouble getting around nowadays, so I sent her off that morning with our usual grocery list. And she never came back."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm so sorry," Reese puts a hand on his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You have no idea what she was doing all that time when she was out all day?" Shaw asks. Reese shoots her a look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well," Gael furrows his brow, "my daughter and I have always had a very trusting relationship. Ever since she was little, I've always given her the privacy I felt she had a right to. I always told her if she wasn't going to tell me where she was, she should tell a friend. She was always very good about that. Until she wasn't. I know I have made mistakes. I know I should have behaved differently. That is my burden to bear."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You were doing your best to do right by her," Reese assures him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I always tried to," Gael looks at the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did your daughter have any hobbies? Were there any places she went to particularly regularly?" Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, she worked here, and she wasn't going to school at the time," he explains, "and she didn't have many friends. There was a bird sanctuary that she went to fairly often to volunteer at on Saturdays and Sundays."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reese writes it down in her bullet journal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She didn't have many friends. Just a few here and there. Sophia Reis and Alex Santana were her best friends. They've been questioned many times, but I believe them when they say they know nothing." he says, "that's all. I mean, she did go to the library quite often, too. But she mostly sat inside and read and played with her bird."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nothing to see at the grocery store?" Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's no evidence to suggest my daughter even set foot in it that day. The store owner, Miguel, saw nothing," Gael explains, "I'm sorry I can't offer any more useful information to any of you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That will do," Reese says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We could use the  addresses of the places that you mentioned, though," Harper says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right, of course," he says, "I'll write that down right away."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"One more thing," Shaw says, "you've got, like a small forest's worth of photos up here. I don't see the mom. Is she still in the picture?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She passed away a few years ago," Gael answers, "that's when the shop started to suffer."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The shop wasn't doing so hot financially?" Shaw perks up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, not for a while. I tried, but our grief shone through. For a long time, I was no good at selling. But I got better. It got better. That was, of course, right before my daughter disappeared."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That sounds really awful," Reese furrows her brow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It was. Is. I wish I could say I was confident you'll do anything miraculous with the leads. Of course, I am still hopeful. But, well," he trails off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We completely understand your skepticism," Reese assures her, "but we will do everything in our power to ensure your daughter comes home."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sure you will," he says, "I'm sure you will."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As quickly as they entered, they left again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Agent Washington?" Harper snorts as they're out of shouting distance from the shop, "I hope you didn't sprain any muscles with that one. What, was agent DC too bland?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know," Reese sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, what lead do we investigate first?" Shaw asks, "My money's on one of the friends knowing what she was up to when she left the house."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You already have theories?" Reese raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah. The shop was doing bad, probably near foreclosure. The kid picked up a side gig with the wrong people. When business picked back up, she quit, and she's probably in hiding if they didn't take her out," Shaw paces back and forth as she speaks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shaw," Reese warns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" Shaw asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know you're you, and you're not the most tactful, which is fine, but you've been...well," Reese gestures.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've been what?" Shaw grits her teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just a little more...rude. This man has lost his daughter. We could afford to be a little more respectful, is all I'm saying," Reese suggests.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're being insane," Shaw looks at Harper, "this is ridiculous, right?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Actually," Harper sighs, "I would be lying if I said I didn't notice that you were a little more snippy than usual."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaw looks like she could kill both of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shaw, you're good at this. You're really good under pressure. But you're a little more on edge."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So what? You said it yourself, I'm not okay," Shaw huffs, "but what do you want me to do about it?  Go home and mope?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reese looks at Harper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You've gotta be kidding me," Shaw groans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not saying you should stop working numbers with us at all," she assures her, "I just think that maybe you should sit this one out."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Maybe Lorelai's right," Harper agrees, "I'd hate the idea of stopping too, but Root and you talked, what, this morning? Maybe you're more affected than you-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't tell me about me and Root," Shaw warns her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My bad," Harper says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fine," Shaw exhales, "I'll go home."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We're not trying to upset you," Reese says gruffly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course not," Shaw shakes her head, "no, you're just proving to me that I was right."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right?" Harper repeats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I work better alone," she says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shaw," Reese reaches for her. Shaw dodges.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's fine," Shaw smiles, "I'm not upset. I knew I didn't work well with others. Not anymore. For like, a minute, I thought it was like before. But it's never gonna be the same as it was, even if we got Root back. You do your thing and Fusco does his and I do mine. It works."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This works," Reese argues. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We'll," Shaw sighs, "call me when you're back in the city and we can do lunch sometime, okay?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reese hesitates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay," she says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then they watch her walk away. As she makes her way back to the hotel to pack, she can hear multiple phones ringing. Convincing herself that it's all in her head, she starts walking faster and faster.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm using the note that I usually would use for song lyrics as mood enhancers to just say I know I've been gone for some time, I was dealing with grief and depression for a very long time, and that made me not want to write. turns out though, I feel better when I do. So I'm gonna write as much as I can.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Sinatra Sings Like a Canary</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No chapter notes this time around. After a month of absence, I am proud to have finally completed this chapter, which is my favorite one I've written so far. I hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Okay, who's first," Reese looks at the list with intent, studying it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think we should talk to the friends first," Harper suggests, "Sophia Reis is closer. We should talk to her first."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right," Reese nods, "It's only a couple blocks away."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She starts walking. Harper tails her, keeping eyes on her colleague. Reese stares straight ahead, not speaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you okay?" Harper asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not particularly," Reese answers honestly. She doesn't elaborate, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you want to talk about it?" Harper presses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Since when do you have heart-to-hearts with people?" Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Low blow," Harper mutters, "but, you know, you seem kind of upset. And we're friends, sort of, I mean, at least I think so."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorelai stops walking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We're friends," she nods, "ish."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good enough for me," Harper folds her arms, "does your mood change have anything to do with that fight you had with Shaw just now?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorelai turns around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We didn't have a fight. It was just a conversation," she insisted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, it was pretty heated. You guys are always sort of stoic and quiet and gruff and all, but this was different. There was an energy about it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We're trying to find a missing girl," Reese points out, "this isn't really the time."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Like our lives really leave room for this sort of stuff in the first place," Harper scoffs, "but if you don't talk about shit, you're gonna blow up."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And who, exactly, if I may ask, are you having these kinds of conversations with?" Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper snorts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fine, whatever, just thought I'd offer an ear," she starts walking ahead of Reese.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, well," Reese sighs, "thanks."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No problem."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And it wasn't a fight," Reese repeats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You would know better than me," Harper nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It was just a disagreement."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't picture you two having a lot of disagreements," Harper says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We don't," Reese says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's good."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reese doesn't say anything else. She follows Harper down the street.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Was it the thing about not ever going back to normal?" Harper asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"For fuck's sake," Reese groans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Am I wrong?" Harper asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reese stays silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I knew it," she smugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Congratulations," Reese says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's silent again. Then Lorelai laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" Harper raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nothing," Reese coughs, "just something occurred to me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Would you care to share what exactly occurred to you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You spend your whole life trying to find somewhere to be. That's half the battle. And then when you do, it's great for a while, and then it falls apart again."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I fail to see how that's funny."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Trust me, it's pretty great."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay," they turn the corner, "I know you were having fun working together again. Both of you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Harper-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know what you were thinking when you started working together again," Harper continues, "what you were trying to not get your hopes up about. And I want you to know that if you feel stupid, don't."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Great pep talk," Reese smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm just saying, that if she doesn't want to work with you, and I'm not saying that she won't ever or that she definitely will in the future, that's her loss and her problem. And you're not a gullible buffoon for thinking that this might remind her how great it is to work as a team."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I worked alone before I met Shaw," Reese points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, but," Harper sighs, "you had Finch."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reese stops.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You two are the same," Harper shakes her head, "like two halves of the same whole."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How do you figure?" It's not the first time someone has compared them, either. Reese wants to hear what she has to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You love to act like you thrive on working alone. And in some ways, that's true. You always get the job done and as far as I know, you rarely make mistakes. But in other ways, the ways that matter, you hate it. Not just working, but being alone. It takes a toll on you. And I know you're gonna pretend I'm full of shit and that you hate working with people and you're doing just fine, but if you want my opinion, I think you need each other. Not just you and Shaw. Fusco and Finch and I'm sure Root too. The Machine knows it, too."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you done soapboxing, Dr Phil?" Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, I'm done."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good. We're here," Reese approaches an apartment building.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They find their way to Sophia's front door. Reese knocks thrice, almost robotically. Harper smiles to herself. She's so used to seeing Reese kick doors in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hello?" a voice from the other side of the door asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ms. Reis?" Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Who's asking?" the voice replies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My name is Lorelai Cain. I'm a private investigator. My partner and I are here to ask a few questions about your friend, Mia Alves."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice doesn't reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ms. Reis?" Reese repeats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Y'all got clearance to do this?" the voice asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorelai mouths "do we?" at Harper, who in turn, nods smugly and pulls a stack of papers out of her bag. Oh, she's good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, ma'am," Lorelai relays back to the voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You working for the Rio police?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No," Lorelai says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door unlocks. A woman who can't be older than twenty-two with silver hair answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry about the mess," she says, motioning for them to come in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ms. Reis-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You can call me Sophia," she corrects.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Feel free to call me Lorelai," Reese takes out her notepad, "and this is Harper."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I told you to stop calling your notepad that," Harper teases, "hi."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You can have a seat. If you want to, I mean," Sophia says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What do you want to know?" Sophia asks, "I know everywhere she went that day, what she was wearing, who liked her, who disliked her..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper gives Reese a look. The "she is awfully helpful isn't she?" look, the "she absolutely doesn't know anything and we're wasting each other's time" look. Lorelai ignores it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You and Mia were close, I take it?" Lorelai asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah," Sophia nods, "I mean, we told each other everything. At least I thought we did."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What does that mean?" Harper presses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just that she was acting weird towards the end. She kept flaking on everyone. Me, Alex, her dad, the bird sanctuary. Pretty much the only person that was hearing from her was her cousin."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Her cousin?" Lorelai leans forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah. She babysits-babysat, I guess-him every day from four to eight while his mom worked," Sophia explains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not one police report mentioned the cousin," Lorelai remarks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well," Sophia sighs, "it wasn't really out of the ordinary. It probably didn't register for anyone to say anything."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you think that this cousin would have any information on Mia's whereabouts?" Lorelai asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are...you serious?" Sophia raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know it sounds strange. But nobody saw her that day. Everyone's alibis check out. Right now, the cousin is the only person we haven't talked to."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The aunt said she didn't show to babysit that day," Sophia says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That doesn't mean she wasn't there," Lorelai says, "this is kind of the only lead we have, that is, if we can't come up with anything else over the course of questioning you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You've made your point," Sophia rubs her neck, "I'll give you the address. After we're done here, I mean."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That would be great, thank you," Reese clicks her pen, "now, you say her behavior was strange in the weeks leading up to her disappearance. Would you mind elaborating on how?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure," Sophia nods.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Fusco is barely back from work, barely in his comfortable chair before his phone rings. He sighs and answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Lionel Fusco, P.I.," he greets, a noticeable lack of enthusiasm in his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fusco!" a voice, eerily familiar but not enough so to place,  speaks enthusiastically on the other line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Who's this?" he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Aw, I'm hurt," the man on the other end says a little more dramatically than is needed to sell the bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bear approaches Fusco and pointedly sits at Fusco's feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm hanging up now," Fusco announces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wait!" The phone commands, "It's me, Fusco. Your old pal Logan Pierce."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh," Fusco pauses to look exasperated at the dog, "that spoiled millionaire who is slipperier than a greased pig?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That would be me!" Logan says proudly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right, so, what do you want?" Fusco asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"See, me and the DC team have been here for a couple of weeks because She wanted all hands on deck for a little while. And since we got here, we've been getting little numbers alongside the big ones," Logan explains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's no such thing as little numbers," Fusco says, cringing slightly at how preachy and Finch-esque he knows he sounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, I know. But I've got a new one," Logan clicks his tongue, "and normally I would have help. But Harper's in Rio right now with Shaw and Reese and Joey was gonna stick it out with me until she got back so we could all fly back to DC on my jet and get back to work over there, but Pia had some kind of family emergency."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay," Fusco raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thing is, though, I do have another number. A museum night guard," Logan says, "I've figured out by tapping some phone lines that there's supposed to be a heist tonight."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And?" Fusco asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Come on buddy," Logan eggs him on, "you're smarter than this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm gonna block your number if you don't start saying words that are relevant to my life," Fusco knows that blocking his number will do no good as these people are like boomerangs, but he's a little short on threats right about now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay, okay," Logan apparently takes this threat more seriously than he should, "I need your help."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You do not," Fusco argues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I do too!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Logan," Fusco warns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fine, fine! Maybe I don't need you for this," Logan sighs, "but I want you there."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fusco puts his head in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Listen, Logan, you're a nice guy. I mean, you seem like a pain. but below that, you seem nice," Fusco says, "but this thing Lorelai and I have going-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did you think I was hitting on you?" Logan is bemused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, I did not," Fusco says, "I meant our thing going working on numbers together. It's field-tested. We've done it for years."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, well now I feel ridiculous." Logan says, "wait, so you and Lorelai aren't a thing?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Me and Lorelai?" Fusco scoffs, "People have accused me of being involved with Lorelai and with Shaw plenty of times over the years, and frankly, I'm offended on both of their behalfs."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You've never even thought about it?" Logan asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Even if I had thought about it," he has, "I wouldn't date a woman who has shot me before."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would. But his point remains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Anyway," Logan presses forward, "this is my first stakeout."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've never had a stakeout before!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You'll do fine," Fusco has no authority to make such a claim, but he just wants off the phone, "now, if you'll excuse me, As Good As It Gets is on cable tonight, and-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I want you to be my stakeout buddy!" Logan blurts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You what?" Fusco's spine straightens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know, in the movies, it's always a super tough guy with his super-smart friend," Logan points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh my god, you're not serious," Fusco drags a hand down his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll make it worth your while! I'm getting food and drinks, we'll make a day of it. Or, night, I guess."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What kind of food?" Fusco drums his fingers on his chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Cheesesteaks and soda," Logan answers, "I asked Reese. She said they're your favorites."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fusco sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll go," he says, "but I swear to god, if you say any action movie one-liners, they will never find your body."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sweet. Meet me on 103rd an hour from now. That's right between the museum and the cheesesteak place."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hang on just a goddamn minute, I'm picking you up?" Fusco demands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I figured my car was too conspicuous," Logan reasons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fusco considers his options. He can still hang up. Turn every internet-connected device in the house off, lest Logan send messages via the printer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"These had better be good cheesesteaks."</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The cousin, Miguel, as Reese found out his name was, lives at a tiny apartment nearby. His mother answers the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ola, hi," she greets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hello," Lorelai replies, "are you Annabella Santiago?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I am," she answers, "is there something that I could help you ladies with?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We're private detectives, here on behalf of your brother-in-law, Gael," Lorelai takes a step forward, "may we come in?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Annabella looks them both up and down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Listen, we never saw her that day. She was supposed to babysit and she did not show. I wish you both the best of luck, but I do not have any information that could help you, I assure you," Annabella says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She seems jumpy," Harper says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You seem a little scared, yeah," Lorelai tells her, "is there something about your niece's disappearence that makes you feel unsafe?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Annabella's eyes go wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We don't know anything," she insists, "I wish you both the best of luck, and I do hope that my niece is recovered. I've been worried sick. But I cannot help you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper and Reese exchange a look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ms. Santiago-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If it was just me, it would be one thing. But I have a son," she begins closing the door. Harper catches it with her foot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ms. Santiago," Harper repeats, "we are not your average private investigators. We have resources. Resources that will protect you and your son no matter what. Or, at the very least, make it so you don't have to look over your shoulders constantly. Not just for your sake, but your son's."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Annabella looks at her. She sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You promise you can ensure the safety of my son?" she asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We will do our best," Harper answes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The safety of Gael?" she asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The same," Harper assures her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She opens the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Come in," she instructs. Lorelai and Harper do so. She shuts and locks the door behind them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you for allowing us to speak to you, Ms. Santiago," Harper says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I assume you would like to speak to my son," she cuts straight to the point, "but you must promise to be delicate with him. He is very sensitive since Mia disappeared."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, ma'am," Lorelai nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Miguel, it is alright, you can come out," she says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small boy rolls out from under the couch. Harper raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I told him to hide when the women in the suits showed up," Annabella explained, "Miguel, my love, these women are here to ask you some questions about Mia."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miguel sort of glares at them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't know," he says, "I don't know that I should."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper and Lorelai hesitate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They are not like the others I don't think," Annabella says, "they're friends of uncle Gael's."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miguel looks skeptical. Lorelai takes a knee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hi, Miguel," she says, "I'm Agent Cain. You can call me Rory. All of the other agents do."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Agents?" Miguel asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's right. If you help us find your cousin, you'll be just like a real private detective."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miguel hesitates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think she'd be mad at me. I already wasn't supposed to tell my mom," he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I understand you think that she'll be mad at you. But I really think that if you tell us what you know, we'll be able to help your cousin," Lorelai tells him, "even if she is mad, at first, I think she'll come to realize she's grateful for what you did to help her."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miguel thinks on this. He stares at the wall and glares for a very long time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay," he nods, "for Mia."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm going to get some coffee," Annabella announces, "would either of you ladies like any coffee?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm fine," Lorelai says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll have some," Harper chimes in. Annabella nods and walks to the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So," Harper folds her hands, "you and your cousin were very close, I hear?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We saw each other every day," Miguel shrugs, "she babysat me. Even though I am way too old to be babysat. I should be able to watch myself."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, it bothered you that she was over so much?" Harper asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No," Miguel says, "no, of course not. I loved Mia. We watched movies together, we went to the park, got food. The only thing that wasn't great is she was always taking these phone calls."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What sort of phone calls?" Lorelai asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She was always dropping off packages places. And she took me with her. But she always told me it was our secret, and then she'd buy me any kind of candy I wanted," Miguel explains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you know what was in the packages?" Harper questions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miguel goes silent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's okay. You can tell us," Lorelai sits on her knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well," Miguel says, "not even Mia knew this. But I peaked...once! I swear it was only one time, and I taped it right back up, and I never told anyone, except for now I'm telling you guys."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We appreciate that," Lorelai says, "it would be a great deal of help to tell us what was in the boxes, Miguel."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay," Miguel agrees reluctantly, "it was diamonds."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Diamonds?" Lorelai repeats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A whole bunch of them at a time. She said these packages were for friends of hers, and I thought it was really nice of her to get her friends diamonds."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Was it just diamonds or other jewels too?" Harper asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It was just diamonds," Miguel answers, "I thought it was so cool."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And you never brought this up with anyone? Mia or your mother?" Harper furrows her brow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No! I swear!" Miguel raises his voice, "But I mean, my mom is really good at guessing."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So she guessed about the diamonds," Lorelai says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah. I was really impressed," Miguel nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Some of Mia's other friends said she was acting weird for the last little bit before she went away. Did you notice it about her?" Lorelai asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think so. The packages were weird. But then she stopped having to deliver them, and she got weirder. She was acting like her birds, all shaky and saying stuff over and over."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Like what kinds of stuff?" Harper steps forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I caught her in the bathroom once. She kept saying how everything was gonna be fine and how she just had to pretend that everything was normal," Miguel looks down, "I didn't tell her, but it really freaked me out to see her like that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I understand," Lorelai pauses, "when was the last time you saw her?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miguel hesitates at first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You have to promise that you won't tell her that I told anybody," Miguel says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I promise," Lorelai assures him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well," he sighs, "I saw her the day she disappeared."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Funny, your mom said she was a no-show," Harper observes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, she didn't babysit. She just stopped by right after I got home from school," Miguel clarifies, "she hugged me and she told me that she loved me and she was going to be okay, but she wasn't gonna see me for a while."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did she say how long?" Lorelai asks. Miguel shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She just left. And I found out she disappeared the day after."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"After that," Annabella chimes in, handing a mug of coffee to Harper, "I got a phone call from a restricted number. A man told me that no harm would come to my niece-or my Miguel-as long as we didn't tell the authorities anything that we knew. How they managed to access the information that Miguel knew, I hope I never find out." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, Mia is alive," Lorelai stands up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"As far as I know. And she is to remain alive, do you understand me?" Annabella asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We will do everything in our power-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not good enough. If you do not come back with my niece alive and safe, no matter the efforts put forth to help her, I will never forgive either of you. I will never forgive myself," Annabella says, "I need you to understand that if something happens to that little girl, or her friends, or my son, or Gael, I will kill you both myself. I do not know what sort of training either of you has and I do not care. Harm comes to my family, I only have to fire a gun twice in my life. Is that clear?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I like this woman," Harper says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, ma'am," Lorelai nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good," Annabella says, "my hostility is nothing personal."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You care a great deal about your family. There's nothing wrong with that," Reese turns back towards Miguel, "now, do you remember any of the locations that she dropped these boxes at?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't know any street names," Miguel says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's alright. Any other defining features of these buildings?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"One was a video store," Miguel offers, "this really creepy place near the market she did all the shopping for her family at."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you," Lorelai writes everything he says down, "anything else?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's all I really remember about the places," Miguel's tone is apologetic. He's starting to trust them, which is good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If that's all the information we have to work with, we need to get going now," Harper sets down the coffee cup, "we don't know what kind of resources these guys have, Annabella said it herself. For all we know, they could already know that we've spoken to Gael and Mia's friend."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This is true," Annabella agrees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's a hotel booked under our aliases. You should be safe there. Try to get Gael over there if you can. And if they find you, get the gun in the nightstand, and answer the phone," Reese instructs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" Annabella demands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just answer the phone. Someone will be at the other end of the line. Do whatever she says," Reese reiterates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How do you know?" Annabella asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She's always there," Reese says, "This is the hotel information. The new concierge should be clocking in any minute now, so introduce yourself as me, alright?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Annabella nods.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>"Is anything happening?" Logan asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not yet," Fusco mutters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Let me see the binoculars," he demands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Go buy new binoculars, Richie Rich," Fusco says, "gold plated diamond lens binoculars with your name engraved on them."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm orchestrating this stakeout," Logan folds his arms, "I should be able to look through the binoculars."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You can take a turn when I'm done," Fusco says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But you've been staring into those things for forty-five minutes!" Logan protests. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nobody does anything in forty-five-minute intervals," Fusco points out, "I'm gonna look through these, and at midnight you can have an hour, so on and so forth."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Come on, the last fifteen minutes are that important to you? You don't look like you're having a lot of fun," Logan takes another bite out of his sandwich.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's not about the last fifteen minutes," Fusco sighs, "first it's this, then you're gonna insist on fighting the goons, then you're gonna get yourself killed, and I am already not very popular with your friends."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Logan doesn't have a retort for that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Were you...serious about the gold plated binoculars? Is that a market?" Logan asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fusco groans and hands him the binoculars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you," Logan smugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fusco simply rolls his eyes and takes a bite out of his sandwich.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's a couple of blissful moments until someone speaks again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This is boring. You were trying to spare me from boredom, and I was rejecting your wisdom like the Pharoah in Egypt."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're spoiled enough to be comparing yourself to a Pharoah, I'll tell you that much," Fusco shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Would you cut it out with that? I am not spoiled. I am a philanthropist and I do this, not for money, because there really is not any money in this, but for fun and enrichment," Logan points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fine, sorry, you're not spoiled," Fusco relents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you," Logan says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fusco takes another bite of his sandwich.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, your kid doing alright in school?" Logan asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We're really going to do that? In the middle of a stakeout for a museum heist, you want to talk about my kid?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's your great idea of how to pass the time?" Logan raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fine," Fusco says, "he's doing good. He's got a real shot at playing for the NHL in a couple of years."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"NHL is hockey, right?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mhm," Fusco says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm gonna turn on the radio, is that okay?" Logan sets down the binoculars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure," Fusco shrugs, "there's a mixtape I made in there. It should just come on when you turn the radio on."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My car doesn't even have a CD player. Gotta tell you, making my playlists online and using BlueTooth is not the same," Logan says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That is one of the worst things I've heard in my life," Fusco says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Logan presses the button to turn the radio on. True to Fusco's word, the cd immediately starts. What Fusco failed to account for, however, was the volume he left his radio at. The opening notes of Strangers in the Night blare at the volume of a jet engine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Turn that off!" Fusco scrambles to hit the button.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Way to be inconspicuous," Logan says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I didn't know my volume was still that loud," Fusco defends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There is not a single situation where playing your music that loudly is appropriate. Jesus Christ," Logan covers his ears dramatically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not the one who wanted music," Fusco points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, if we were in my spoiled rich guy car, which, by the way, has volume control, my heartbeat would not be in my eardrums right now."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You wanted to take my car!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A man opens the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Scuse me, fellas," he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You left your door unlocked?" Logan demands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We were just gonna be sitting here!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fellas," the man repeats, "I'm sorry to bother you, I truly am, and really, I feel bad about what I'm about to do, but it seems you're having a stakeout out here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No stakeout!" Logan frantically waves his hands, "Absolutely nothing of note, just enjoying some food on this lovely New York night."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fusco looks at Logan with his eyes wide and his fists clenched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alone, in a parking lot of a closed museum?" the man asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, we wouldn't have turned the radio on if we were staking out, that would defeat the point of it," Fusco points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's a good point," he says, "unfortunately, now that you've seen my face, it's more dangerous to let you go about your evening."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, it's your fault that we saw your face," Fusco says, "so how about you close that door right on up, and me and my friend will drive to a different parking lot, and we'll never see each other again. In fact, I may have forgotten to wear my glasses tonight, so I don't see you too good in the first place."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You wear glasses?" Logan asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How have Joey and Harper not killed you?" Fusco demands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something hits Fusco on the back of his head, knocking him unconscious. Logan, not to be upstaged. is soon after.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They wake up duct-taped to a set of chairs in the museum storage room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ugh. Remind me never to do a stakeout with you ever again," Fusco groans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, it's my first time!" Logan protests.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your first time having a stakeout or your first time interacting with a human being?” The vein in Fusco’s neck is making itself known.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fusco’s phone is ringing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Shaw,” Fusco says, kicking off his shoes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” Logan asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Answering my phone,” Fusco answers. He uses his big toe to answer the phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Fusco, I just wanted you to know that I’m back in town.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s great, Shaw, but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I’m dropping by your place to get the dog,” Shaw continues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not at home right now!” Fusco says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s alright. I can get in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shaw, please do not break into my apartment!” Fusco shouts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will relock the door when I leave,” Shaw assures him, “you might not see me around for a little while. But I figured if you got home and there was no dog. Anyway, later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shaw. Shaw!” Fusco hollers. The line goes dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think there’s a chance that She heard that?” Logan asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Most likely,” Fusco answers, “but Shaw and The Machine ain’t on speaking terms at the moment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>mean?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No idea, but it ain’t good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god,” Logan says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god,” Logan repeats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am going to die taped to someone who listens to Frank Sinatra!”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Strangers in the night exchanging glances<br/>Wond'ring in the night what were the chances<br/>We'd be sharing love before the night was through<br/>-Strangers in the Night by Frank Sinatra</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. In the Rough</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>"you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours" <br/>idiom.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“This must be the place,” Lorelai announces, “the only video store around here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t even know there </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> video stores,” Harper says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not a lot of them," the machine chimes in on both of their earpieces, "they're not exactly a hot commodity anymore, but people do still go to them. There was this documentary about the last Blockbuster that exists that-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She's doing it again," Harper groans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Apologies. Sometimes being a constant source of information for my allies, grateful and ungrateful, is difficult to shut off when prompted," the machine says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is she...being sarcastic?" Harper asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She does that," Lorelai nods, "she's pretty good at it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay, well, we're definitely stirring up more suspicion standing here talking to the god in our earpieces right outside of the place we're supposed to be investigating," Harper points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Harper is right," the machine agrees, "when you enter, there will be a man standing at the cash register."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"As goes with most businesses," Harper replies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ask him to see his collection of James Bond movies," the machine continues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"James Bond?" Lorelai asks, "Why James bond?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, Diamonds Are Forever," Harper figures.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hm," Lorelai says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Focus, please," the machine instructs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right. Sorry. So, I'm asking to see the James Bond movies, a rabbi and a priest walk in, what next?" Harper folds her arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The gentleman behind the counter will take you into a back room. He will ask if you have cash, no matter what you do, don't say that you have cash on you. For one, it's dangerous, for two, it's suspicious to begin with to have that much money on you at a time."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Simple enough," Lorelai says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's certain ways you can coax information out of him. Don't spring the Mia question on him, to begin with, but ease into it. When it inevitably goes south, because you're you, I will be back. Good luck," she says, and hangs up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is there a reason she's constantly so cryptic and vague despite being, you know, omnipotent?" Harper asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Something to do with information falling into the wrong hands and the way that Finch programmed her," Lorelai answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Speaking of Finch," Harper tilts her head, "you talk to the dork about any of this?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not yet," Lorelai sighs, "maybe not ever now."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pushes the door open. There are other customers in the store when they arrive, so Lorelai elects to check out the dramas. Lots of movies she's never heard of. Some in English, others in Spanish and Portuguese.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, the other couple in the store leaves. Lorelai waits a few moments before approaching the clerk. He's an older white man, not quite Golden Girls old but it would be unsurprising to hear he didn't have both his real knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ola, hello," he greets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hi," Lorelai says flatly, "how's your day going?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Same old, same old," he shrugs, "yours?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Better now," Lorelai answers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper nudges her with her elbow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Would you mind letting us take a look at your James Bond movies?" Lorelai asks. The man's face changes from pleasant and casual to more serious. He steps out from behind the desk and flips the sign on the front window to "out to lunch."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, he silently leads them back behind the desk, through a thin door. Lorelai has to wonder what would happen if she actually wanted to purchase James Bond movies. Like, what if she genuinely wanted to get her Daniel Craig, or perhaps Pierce Brosnan, and suddenly the video store guy was leading her into the beginning of a horror movie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, he leads them into a small room, shutting and locking the door behind them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You ladies bring any cash with you?" he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We wanna make sure you're worth our money first," Harper explains, folding her arm, "we're good for it if that's what you want to know."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I never meant to suggest otherwise," he clarifies, a little frantically. His knuckles are bruised. Perhaps he has some violent clientele. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No worries. Just show us what you have. Then we'll give you a quote," Harper says. Lorelai can't believe how smooth Harper is being about all of this as if this isn't her first time standing in the backroom of a video store sussing out diamonds. Then she thinks a little harder about what she knows about Harper. Never mind, she can totally believe it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, some of our best," he pauses to open a briefcase, "are in here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper strides confidently to the table where the briefcase is placed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not bad," she says, sounding fairly unimpressed, "now, show me your real best."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He mutters something to himself about the two of them being the real deal, then shuts the briefcase.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay, I'll admit. I wasn't expecting to sell today, and it's pretty dangerous to keep that much stock on you at once. However," he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a picture, "we just got this one in. Twenty-six-carat blue diamond."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Now that is a beauty," Harper says, taking the photo from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Would you say that you're interested?" he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We'll have to see the diamond in person. Preferably today," Harper replies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not sure I can do that," he looks down, "my bosses are real temperamental guys, you know?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shame. You were about to come into eight billion escudo," Harper puts her hands in her pockets, "I would recommend not telling your bosses about this slip-up."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man looks concerned, then frustrated, then desperate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're really good for eight billion?" he furrows his brow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Maybe more," Harper shrugs, "depends on the clarity of the piece. Our guy is desperate do get his hands on one of these. He'll pay through the nose."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's not a very good way to negotiate," the old man squints at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, rake him over the coals if you'd like. It's not my money. But I need to see this diamond today."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The old man sighs, and begins pacing around the room. After a moment, he locks eyes with Harper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll call them. See what I can do," he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Take as long as you need to, my man," Harper grins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man walks into a smaller room off the side of this backroom, which deeply troubles and confuses Lorelai. The earpieces crackle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good work, ladies," the machine praises.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ladies?" Harper scoffs, "you're well aware that was all me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not that it's not always good to hear your voice," Lorelai says, "but why are you talking to us right now?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, seems pretty unsafe," Harper agrees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If I thought either of the two of you was in any sort of danger, I wouldn't put you into it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's a complete lie and you know it," Harper retorts, "all you ever do is toss us to the wolves. For the greater good and all. Still. Messed up for you to pull the innocent saint attitude."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Would you settle for the 'ain't I a stinker' attitude?" she plays the audio of a clip from a bugs bunny cartoon for extra emphasis.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Anyway," Lorelai inhales sharply, knowing that it can't take very long for the old man's bosses to threaten to smash his kneecaps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Because," the machine says, "you're going to need to sound like you're talking to your boss too to make it seem like a real dialogue is going on between you and this imaginary employer. He might get suspicious of this being some kind of sting operation should you not make any efforts to contact your boss."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She makes a good point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The old man finally walks out of the backroom of the backroom, again, a very concerning thing to have in what is essentially a blockbuster video, and Harper speaks into her earpiece before she speaks to the old man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He seems like he might be difficult with the whole thing," Harper explains to the machine, "I don't know if this is worth all of that, Mr Cromwell."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Cromwell? Nice," the machine says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, he just got off the phone with his guys," Harper continues, "no sir, I apologize for wasting your time by not investigating that now. I'm putting you on hold."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks the old man dead in the eye. Her gaze is as cold and unforgiving as a printer when one is in a hurry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright, out with it," she scoffs impatiently, "am I wasting my time, Mr Cromwell's time, or am I not?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My guys are willing to see you," he says, a little frantic,"it took some convincing, but when I told them that your Mr Cromwell is willing to pay through the nose for this diamond, they perked right up."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well?" Harper crosses her arms, "Do we have an ETA?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's the thing. They're not willing to move the diamond from its post until they know this whole thing is legit."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ergo?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ergo, I'm going to need the two of you to come with me to see it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Come with you where, exactly?" Harper raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's a remote warehouse we store our diamonds in while we look for buyers. We'll leave at once. My bosses are just as eager to get this deal taken care of, believe it or not," he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper clicks her tongue in slight fictitious annoyance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll consult with Mr Cromwell."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, of course," the old man nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pushes the button on her earpiece.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr Cromwell," she shoots a glare towards the old man. The personality she's selling as part of her cover is not the nicest person, that's for sure, "yes, sir, straight to the point. Well, you see, his guys are willing to meet with us. Not here though, it's too suspicious. He wants to take us to the storage space where everything is being kept. Do you think this is wise of us?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If you're asking if I think these goons are going to try to attack you, I have every possible scenario playing out in my head as we speak. As long as you keep your cool, though, nobody is going to try to kill you on your way. When you get to the warehouse, though...you're on your own."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" Harper demands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The old man looks up at her, heavy anxiety in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There are cameras in the building, but none of them connected to the internet," the machine explains, "everything, from their computers to their phones to, yes, their cameras, are entirely old school. Not a single thing here that could be potentially traced by police."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is there any way you can get access to that?" She furrows her brow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not an electrical current, Harper," if the machine had eyes, she would be rolling them, "there's no way for me to access things that aren't connected to the internet. This one is a little fuzzy, I'll admit. There's not a lot of details we have access to as is, myself included."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Because you've been busy, haven't you?" Harper asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The machine hesitates and the old man looks incredibly confused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I will admit, slightly less of my vigilance has gone towards numbers since this whole thing began."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And what good did that do you, exactly, Mr Cromwell?" Harper asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It will do good. Just give it time."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm so sick of you being so cryptic and vague," Harper clenches her jaw, "now, do we do this or don't we?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The machine, for once, takes a moment to formulate a response. She runs through millions of options in a matter of seconds and runs through them again a second time with lower standards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't particularly think this is incredibly safe. But it's the only way to access the diamond. So, go with him," she instructs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes sir," Harper says, and hangs up, "we're in."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Excellent!" the old man beams, "Now, my gremlin is out back-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll smoke really quick before we go," Harper announces, "you can meet me out there in a couple of minutes."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before either of them can respond, she's out the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can I ask you a question?" The old man looks at Lorelai.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't see why not," Lorelai shrugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's the tension between her and Mr Cromwell?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reese squints and scowls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They had an affair," she explains, and doesn't elaborate.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>"Well," Fusco says, "this blows."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It most certainly blows," Logan agrees, "are you sure you couldn't call her back?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My phone was already dying by the time she called," Fusco explains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did you not charge your phone before this stakeout?" Logan asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why would I need to charge my phone before a stakeout?" Fusco raises an eyebrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good question! I wonder what situation a fully charged phone would be useful for?" Logan berates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So you know everything about stakeouts, do you?" Fusco asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not at all, but more than you, apparently," Logan replies smugly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright, smart guy, since you wanna play that card, where's your phone?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Logan looks down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I left it in the car," Logan sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"See, it's not that easy to think on your feet under pressure, is it?" Fusco's patience is wearing extremely thin. He doesn't know how much more of this he's going to be able to take, but he's not sure that the goons are gonna have the opportunity to eliminate Logan before Fusco.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I was basically clubbed over the head like a tiger in the Flinstones," Logan points out, "you made the conscious choice not to charge your phone."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Fusco can formulate a rage-fueled response, the door to the small room busts open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shaw!" Fusco greets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good to see you, Lionel," Shaw approaches them, "don't worry about how loud I was getting in here. I already busted the art thieves. We should probably move out of here quickly, though. I accidentally triggered one of the alarms by tossing a guy right into it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How did you know where to find us?" Fusco asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She told me," Shaw leaves out the part where it took several tries for the machine to get ahold of her and Shaw to not toss whatever electronic across the room. She caved when her DVR started spelling Fusco in danger where the time of day should have been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, in any case, we're glad to see you," Fusco says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaw produces a pocket knife, seemingly from thin air, it should be said, and begins to cut them loose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How was Brazil?" Logan asks, trying to make pleasant conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaw grips the pocket knife tighter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Pointless," she replies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She finishes slicing through the ropes and pulls the two of them out of their chairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You guys wanna get something to eat?" she asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nah, I'm pretty tired," Logan answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Me, too," Fusco agrees, "some other time?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure," Shaw sticks her hands into her pockets, "but you might not see me around for a while."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why?" Fusco asks, "Where are you going?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaw hesitates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just need to get out of Manhattan for a while," she shrugs, "clear my head."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay?" Fusco furrows his brow, "Well, call me if you need anything."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I will," Shaw nods. She walks right out the door she came in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Invitation to go out to eat rejected or not, Shaw is hungry. She makes her way to her favorite bar and grill.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The warehouse is, as Reese had predicted, rather shady. The old man leads her and Harper through the door, hands shaking all the way. Maybe his hands have always shaken, and Reese just didn't notice them doing that before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, ladies, this is as far as I go," he clears his throat, "sorry I can't take you further."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then why can't you?" Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Trust me, if I thought I could explain, I would," he backs away from the building, "I do hope that this works out for the both of you, and your Mr Cromwell."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks," Harper says flatly as he walks off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay, before we do this, I have a question," Reese's eyes scan for potential eavesdroppers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" Harper asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's the deal with you today?" Reese folds her arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What do you mean?" Harper sounds annoyed. They definitely do not have time to be conversing right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know what I mean. The things you said at the machine?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper locks eyes with Reese.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That robot needs to get her priorities in order," Harper replies. She turns back towards the inside of the warehouse and begins taking steps forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Where is everyone?" Lorelai asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lights turn on, seemingly on cue. A man approaches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Welcome, ladies, I understand that you're interested in purchasing one of our finest diamonds," he grins the whole time he's talking, almost as if there's a wire hanger propped inside of his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not us," Harper folds her arms, "our boss."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah, yes," the man clicks his tongue, "your boss. Who is apparently a very busy man who doesn't like his time wasted."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His unsettling grin disappears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He and I have that in common," he narrows his eyes, "I was very displeased to have to come in today. I'm hoping that this deal is worth my while."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If it isn't, you're wasting a lot of your own time chatting instead of cutting to the chase," Harper waves him off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Very well," his grin returns, "I have some questions to ask before I show you the diamond."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then ask them," Harper snaps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You see, I'm very curious as to how your boss, who I'm presuming is American based on the fact that the two of you are-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I was born in Brazil, actually," Harper corrects sternly, "and Mr Cromwell has lived in Mexico City for most of his life. Go ahead and shelve whatever the rest of your assumptions are about my boss and the way he likes to conduct business."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"From who did you hear of us and what we do?" He asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorelai looks at Harper. It's at this moment, she's sure they're gonna have to fight their way out of this one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Your name is out there, trust me. It's not every day someone sells blue diamonds for a living," Harper tells him, "maybe you should work on being more discreet if you don't want people hearing about the business you conduct here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man is visibly taken aback.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Perhaps you're right," he grits his teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And while we're asking questions, how does a Brit end up in Brazil selling stolen diamonds?" Harper smugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She clearly is in no way concerned about aggressing him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I see your point," he says, "but are we going to sit here all day interrogating each other, or are we going to make a deal?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've been wondering that since the moment I walked in," Harper says sharply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man clears his throat and speaks into a small walkie-talkie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think these guys are legitimate. Come on out," he instructs whoever is on the other end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It isn't long before they hear a door open. A teenage girl carries another briefcase towards them. It's clear to both of them instantly that the girl must be Mia.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Awful young to be guarding diamonds," Harper remarks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do not tell me how to run my business. Teenagers are loyal when pressed," he tells them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No kidding," Harper scoffs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mia opens the briefcase.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, she's beautiful," Harper says, “our boss is going to be very pleased with us for bringing this home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course, we're going to need to see its papers," Lorelai chimes in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course," the man echoes, "I'll be right back. My assistant here is trained in martial arts, so don't try anything."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wouldn't dream of it," Lorelai says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man walks away, and Harper begins typing on her cell phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're not really supposed to have your cell phones out in here," Mia stammers nervously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What are you doing?" Lorelai asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just asking one of our mutual friends for a favor really quick," Harper answers, placing her phone back where it came from, "now, we don't have a lot of time."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My friend is right," Reese nods, "now, I don't know if you're here by force or voluntarily, but your father misses you very much."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mia's face pales.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How did you-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Let's just say we're friends," Reese explains, "and we're gonna get you out of here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mia takes a step back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Please, they're going to hurt my family," she begs, "don't try to take me away from here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We can protect your family," Harper assures her, "even if they can't stay here in Brazil, we always find a way to keep people safe."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You promise?" Mia folds her arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We will do everything in our power. We already have your aunt and cousin at a safer location," Reese replies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mia's look softens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Now, how did you wind up in a business like this?" Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mia hesitates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I swear, I didn't know that this was what I was getting mixed up in," she says, "my dad's music store had been struggling for a while. And I thought it would help if I got a part-time job as a delivery girl at a restaurant."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You weren't delivering food, though, were you?" Reese asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No," she looks down, "it was just harmless stuff at first. Marijuana. Sometimes more hard drugs. Then it was electronics. Now diamonds. Between you and me, I never had trouble helping rob the rich and famous. Especially for what these guys were paying me. But shit got ugly really quick."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How?" Reese squints at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A lot of innocent people started dying. Night watchmen for museums, jewelry store clerks. I put two and two together. Mr Delveccio and his entourage aren't the most nonviolent of thieves. I wish I could say that was when I turned away from this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But you didn't," Lorelai infers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It was a lot of money," Mia reiterates, "my dad and I weren't just scraping by anymore. I wanted to keep it that way. But everything changed when they bumped me up from delivery girl to 'helper'. They told me to get rid of anyone who stood in my way. And I couldn't do it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So you quit," Harper says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, I quit. And I promised Mr Delveccio that there were no hard feelings. I guess he didn't take it to heart. One night, I'm cleaning up after my dad goes to bed. And Mr Delveccio climbs through the window."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I was scared. I don't even remember what he said to me exactly. Just that he was gonna hurt the people I cared about if I didn't come with him. After a little negotiation, he allowed me to say goodbye."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's horrible," Reese places a hand on her shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, well," she shrugs Reese's hand off of her shoulder, "I got myself into it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They saw your family was struggling and they preyed on your financial insecurity," Harper points out, "there are very few ways to spin that to make you look like the bad guy of the situation."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They hear the door unlock and see the doorknob start to twist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You'll be okay," Lorelai tells her, "just follow my lead and do exactly as I say."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr Delveccio appears from behind the door holding a stack of papers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry for the wait," he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No trouble at all," Harper shoots him a smile as he hands her the certificates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"These are pretty impressive," Reese remarks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sure your boss would have loved to have it," Mr Delveccio reaches into his coat, "but I'm afraid you won't be taking this diamond home today."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why is that?" Harper asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr Delveccio answers by retrieving a gun and pointing it at her. Mia slinks away nervously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, that would put a damper on our plans," Harper nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I suspected the two of you were trouble from the moment I was made aware of this prospective deal," he says, "now I see exactly what you're doing. You want the girl. Alive and home safe."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Something like that," Reese replies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I wish that I could give you that," Mr Delveccio sighs, "but I'm afraid young Mia has simply seen too much. She knows better than to run. I'll spare her. But you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He presses the gun to Reese's temple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You, I'm afraid, won't be offered the same mercy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls the trigger, and nothing happens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What the hell?" He demands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, dipshit!" Mia shouts from behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three of them turn to face her, holding a gun she must have stashed somewhere nearby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Next time you want to get rid of someone, I'd recommend making sure someone hasn't taken out the magazine."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr Delveccio's eyes widen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You wouldn't dare. After everything I've done for you-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn't even finish the sentence before she fires, hitting his kneecap. He crumbles to the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You run a pretty tight ship around here, I'll admit," Mia walks towards him, "you're careful, discreet, and recruiting struggling kids to do your dirty work is an act of pure genius."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She raises the gun to his forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But you made a big mistake messing with my family and training me to kill," she says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know my entourage will find out what you did," he sneers, "and they will avenge me tenfold."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Harper takes her phone back out and waves it in his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Across the screen, there's a photograph of Mr Delveccio and a little girl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mia isn't the only one here with a family to go home to," Harper says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If you hurt her-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We won't," Reese says, "all you have to do is let us walk away."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He casts his glare downwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We'll let you live too," Harper adds, "under the condition that Mia and her family remain safe."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr Delveccio laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You, kid, you're smarter than I thought," he says, "you'd better get out of here before anyone gets back."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mia nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three of them walk out unscathed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can't believe I get to see my father again," Mia's smile quickly fades as she locks eyes with Reese, "you're not gonna tell him the things I did, are you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's not a choice that I can make," Reese answers, "but good luck coming up with something else to say to him when you get home."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Home," Mia repeats, "thank you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's our pleasure," Harper assures her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Who are you guys, anyway?" Mia asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just..." Harper looks at Reese and shoots her a smile, "a concerned third party."</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Shaw sits at the bar, ready to spend the night surrounded by drinks and chicken wings. It isn't long before a bartender approaches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Excuse me, is your name Sameen?" she asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaw looks surprised, and the server takes that as a yes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll be right back with your order," she walks to the other end of the bar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaw didn't even order anything, it occurs to her as the woman brings her a glass of scotch and the bottle it presumably originated from.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Our finest scotch. Abigail McCade '82," she says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I didn't order this," Shaw states flatly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's already paid for, sweetheart," the bartender assures her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"By who?" Shaw furrows her brow. She’s not about to just drink scotch that for all she knows could be poisoned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not sure," the bartender shrugs, "she came in a little while ago and said to give the bottle to a woman named Sameen. Then she left without ordering anything else."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Huh," Shaw sits back in her chair. As the bartender walks away, Shaw notices a sticky note on the back of the bottle. Curious, she peels it off and tries to make out the handwriting. In messy, loose cursive, it reads:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>See you soon, Sweetie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaw sort of scoffs to herself, shrugs, and takes a drink. It's not the best scotch she's ever had in her whole life, but it's pretty damn close. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she takes another sip, she crumples the note in her hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe she'll stay in New York a little while longer.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"One less spark from a flame<br/>One more heartbeat away<br/>I think I lost your scent after the rain<br/>I'll find you when our paths cross by the gold mines"<br/>-Tokyo Sunrise by LP</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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